


A Trip to Bath

by la_plus_heureuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, F/M, Family tension, Fluff, Granger family reunion, Human Drama, Misunderstandings and hurt feelings, gotta love a good trope, redeemed!Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-07-11 20:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15980372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_plus_heureuse/pseuds/la_plus_heureuse
Summary: All Draco wanted was to impress Hermione's family at the Granger family reunion. Instead he's dealing with cruel cousins, an angry Hermione, and one very unexpected appearance of Cormac McLaggan. Dramione.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

Hermione apparated into her kitchen after an exhausting day of work at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where she found her boyfriend speaking on the phone.

“A reunion, you say? What’s the date?” He was standing in front of the calendar that Hermione had hung on the wall with care, each month depicting a different Renoir painting. She’d have to talk to him about stretching out her phone cord. “July 14th? That’s Bastille Day. Those damn English, never respecting your holidays.” Draco let out a chuckle, and Hermione could hear a throaty laugh come from the phone. A joke about the English and that laugh could only mean Draco was talking to her mother.

“In Bath? We’d love to come. And Hermione just got in. Here, I’m sure she’d love to talk with you.” Draco passed Hermione the phone without so much as a by your leave. She liked this about him sometimes, the sure confident way that he moved through the world. Other times it was irritating. Especially when she knew what this phone call was about.

“Hello darling,” her mother said. Hélène had lived in England for all of Hermione’s life, and some time before that, but she still retained a soft French accent. “Are you just getting home from work?”

“Getting home later every day, it seems. We’re quite busy.”

“I can only imagine. Well, my darling, I would love to spend some time catching up with you but your father and I are about to eat dinner, so I will make this quick. The Grangers are having a reunion in the summer, and we’d love for you and Draco to go. It’s been too long since the last time we all got together.”

Unspoken were the facts- not accusations, Hélène was never that cruel- that they had missed the last Granger family reunion because her parents had been memory charmed in Australia. Hermione sighed. There was no way to escape this with good grace.

“Of course we’ll go,” Hermione said, mentally kicking herself. “Did you already tell Draco the details?”

“He told me that he had written them all down.”

“Then you better repeat them to me,” Hermione said dryly. “He lies.”

Helen gave another of her throaty laughs. “Of course he does. Your father is getting quite impatient to eat- I will send them to you in a letter. I love you, my darling.”

“Love you too Mum,” Hermione said, and replaced the phone on the cradle.

“I don’t lie that much,” Draco protested, his lean frame draped by the refrigerator.

“Then what was it that you told my mom? You were writing them down?”

Draco shrugged. “I was going to. On the calendar. But you get mad at me when I do it without your permission, so I had to ask first. It’s telling the truth of the future.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Why are you here again? And why are you answering my phone?”

“Because you call me on it when you remember you’ll be running late?” Draco said, studying his nails. Hermione threw her hands up in the air in frustration.

“It’s almost like you live here.”

“Almost. If you’d let me help out with your mortgage I would actually be living here. Now, Thai or fish and chips for dinner?”

After dinner, after Draco had called out the order for Thai and apparated away to pick it up and Hermione had shed her Ministry robes and changed into jeans and a soft, warm sweater, Draco leaned over and kissed Hermione tenderly.

“It’s going to be okay, you know. The reunion.”

Hermione stabbed at her basil fried rice with chopsticks with more fury than was perhaps healthy. She sighed deeply. It wasn’t fair to hold onto this anger and resentment she felt to her family.

“I know. It’s just- my dad’s family is difficult. My aunts and uncles are all a group of snobs. It’s all about how much money you have and who you’re acquainted with and what you do- or don’t do. They’ve never forgiven my mom for working, you know. Even when I was away at school. And my cousins have learned from the rest of the family. Miranda’s alright, but Imogene’s the worst. There’s this way of speaking that she uses where the most innocent, polite comment is an uncalled for insult.”

“So they’re like the muggle version of purebloods.”

“Almost exactly the muggle version of purebloods, actually.”

“Then you’re lucky you’ve got the king of snobs to help you.”

“Oh God help me,” Hermione groaned. Draco just beamed.

“We’ll make sure that they could never look down on you.”

Draco had taken charge of impressing Hermione’s family. He insisted on also booking a hotel room for Hermione’s parents, which Hermione couldn’t even find fault with because it made her parents so happy. Hermione let him continue, knowing that whatever he had done would be impractical and expensive, but not finding it in her heart to take over the planning. But then one Saturday morning, heading back to her house after a brisk run, there was a truck parked in front of her house. There was a flashy sports car parked on the truck. And Draco was standing in the driveway, casually waiting with his hands stuck in his pockets.

“What is this, Draco?” Hermione asked, wiping the sweat off her face and feeling like she wasn’t certain she wanted to know.

“A car. A Murciélago, in fact.”

“I’ve never heard of a Murciélago,” Hermione said cautiously. Draco grinned widely at her.

“It’s made by some bloke named Lamborghini. Blaise said he makes the best cars.”

“You bought a Lamborghini.” Hermione’s voice was faint. Draco nodded, pleased with himself.

“I didn’t realize how expensive cars are. It makes me respect the Weasleys a bit more. This thing cost me a pile of gold. Thirty-eight thousand galleons, can you believe that?”

Hermione could. She considered explaining to Draco the difference in cost between a Ford and a Lamborghini, but found she didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead she tried a different tact.

“Draco, neither of us can drive.”

The truck at finished lowering the car onto the street in front of the house- Hermione’s tidy home of two bedrooms and a small garden, now made gaudy and tacky by the car sitting outside it that cost more than her house was worth. The man driving the truck left the cab to have Draco sign for the car. He did so with a flourish and wide smile.

“Hermione, if muggles do it, how hard can it be?”

Draco got his answer when Hermione’s dad, thrilled by the thought of getting to use a Lamborghini, volunteered to teach Draco to drive. Hermione agreed with the caveat that they not use the Bat, as she had begun to call it. Draco pouted and protested until his first driving lesson, where Hermione utilized a few well-hidden spells to stop Draco from plowing straight into a line of parked cars. After that he was much more careful. By the time the reunion had arrived he was able to drive without jerking the car straight from a stop. He was very proud of that development and he pouted immensely when Hermione insisted that wasn’t enough skill to drive the car all the way to Bath.

“Hermione, the whole point of buying the Murciélago was to show it off,” Draco said with the air of someone explaining a very simple concept to an upset child.

“You can show it off next reunion, when you can actually drive the thing,” Hermione retorted.

She was getting quite nervous about seeing her family again. The last time she had seen her family she had been thirteen. Her cousin Imogene had asked her many careful probing questions about her school, then had smiled and said that it must be nice to go to school away from all the attention and pressure that a place like Eton gives off. She could not defend her reputation or her school’s excellence, and that was infuriating. It was even more annoying because only Uncle Phillip had attended Eton, and only for a year. But that brief brush with prestige had spoiled the whole family’s mind.

Draco was nervous as well, though he’d never confess it. He was used to walking through the world where people knew him, for better or for worse. He had come to interact with muggles on a regular basis, and he was now acquaintances with her good friends and friends with her acquaintances. But he was not used to spending long periods of time with large groups of muggle who would be asking personal and possibly sensitive questions. And he didn’t care for Hermione’s attempts to practice his responses.

“I’ll just be the muggle equivalent of a potioner. It’s that simple.”

“No, it’s not Draco,” Hermione countered, running her hands through her hair. “There’s no equivalent. It’s not a simple one to one comparison. If we say you’re a chemist, the person who dispatches medicine, then they’ll both mock you for choosing a middle-class career and ask you what to take for all their symptoms. If we say you’re in pharmaceutical sales, then they’ll ask the same questions, plus more about the clients. And if we say you’re in the business side or the R and D side-“

“R and D?” Draco asked, bored with the conversation already.

“Research and Development. Don’t change the subject. If we say you’re in R and D, then they’ll want to know for what company, so we have to decide the story and do the research.”

“Hermione, it’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”

He would only say that it was fine, that he’d take care of it for days, until one morning he was awake and reading the newspaper as Hermione came into the kitchen. This was unusual. Draco split his time between studying for his potions mastery and running his company MalTech, and he made sure that both of those occupations happened in the afternoon.

“Have you seen the news today?”Draco handed her the newspaper as she entered the room and smirked. The Telegraph. The business section of the Telegraph. Hermione took it, fearing the result.

 _MalTech Pledged to Invest Millions in Malaria Research_ , the headline blared.

“You did this in five days?”

“It’s been in the work since I founded MalTech,” Draco shrugged. “But we were never sure if it would work. I just fast-tracked it a bit. And it did.”

Hermione had a hard time speaking. No matter her own upper-class background, no matter how long she had been with Draco, it still shocked her sometimes the casual way he was able to freely spend more money than she’d see in the rest of her life. But that was not an issue she could deal with right now. Instead she focused on scanning the article.

“Why malaria?”

Draco shrugged. “All the other companies are off chasing these expensive drugs that will help a relatively small amount of people. A cure for malaria could save millions of lives.”

His voice was so careful that Hermione’s annoyance melted. She should have known. Draco had been seeking redemption for years. She wrapped her arms around him.

“This could be huge, Draco.”

“It could,” Draco said, serious and focused for once. He looked up at her and flashed a quick smile. “And, of course, now you get to introduce your family to your wealthy, successful businessman boyfriend.”

“Well, I think it’s a brilliant idea.” She kissed him deeply. He wrapped his arms around her waist and returned her kiss.

“Of course it’s brilliant,” Draco smirked. “I thought of it. So what’s my reward?”

Hermione laughed. “I think you know.” Draco’s smirk widened, and he began to unreel the silk robe that Hermione had worn to breakfast.

“My favorite reward,” he murmured, and buried his face in her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This story is already complete on FF.net, but it seemed time to join AO3 and add my work here. Since it's already complete updates should be quick, and the only changes will be small corrections to spelling and such that I missed before. Thank you for rea


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 

Too soon the reunion had arrived. Draco made one last plea to drive the car to Bath, but Hermione held firm in her refusal. And so the day of the reunion Hermione called a cab and they made the journey from their quiet street in Oxford to the city center where they would be taking a train to Bath. 

“Two first class tickets, my good man,” Draco ordered, leaning aristocratically against the ticket counter. 

“I’m sorry sir, but we’ve no more first-class tickets to Bath. The standard tickets will be eighteen pounds each.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione before Draco could protest, and shoved two notes under the glass. She was given two tickets and her change, and then she dragged her errant boyfriend away.

“No bloody first class tickets. Is that how everyone lives?” Draco grumbled as they settled onto a bench to wait the train’s arrival.

“Mostly,” said Hermione, leafing through the newspaper she had brought with her as they waited for the train. “It’s an hours ride. The food is rubbish anyway. It’s not worth the cost.”

“How often have you traveled first class on the train?” Draco said with a great deal of suspicion.

“More often than you have.”

Draco waited out her response. She sighed loudly.

“I can hear you thinking.”

“If you’d answer the question you wouldn’t have to hear it,” he said pleasantly.

“Twice,” she grudgingly admitted as she turned the newspaper. “Once with my cousins to a holiday in Brighton, once with my mum when we were going to see Grand-mére. The food was rubbish both times.”

“And how long ago was that?” 

“Mum and I went last when I was sixteen.”

“The food might have improved in the past ten years. Ow!” Draco doubled over as Hermione suddenly and violently jabbed him in the ribs. 

“Don’t make me start lying about my age,” she said, but her eyes danced with mischief.

“I’ve always said that I love dating an older woman,” Draco shot back. Hermione merely raised her eyebrows at him.

“Fine, fine. I recant it all. The food might have improved in the past seven years. Better?”

“Much,” Hermione said primly, and she stood as the train arrived in the station. 

On the train Hermione returned to reading the paper, but she was turning far fewer pages than usual and there were deep worry lines between her eyebrows. Draco tried to get distracted in a novel, a muggle classic set in Bath, but he was having trouble focusing himself. Halfway through the ride he set aside his story and set about distracting Hermione. 

“Hermione I’m hungry.”

“I did tell you to eat before we left.”

“I thought we would be able to eat on the train. Not starve like peasants.”

Hermione put down the paper and rubbed her eyes. “Why do I spend time with you?”

“I keep you youthful.”

“You mean, you’re immature.” 

Draco shrugged. “Perhaps you’re overly mature.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him. “I want you to think about the implications of that statement.”

It took Draco a few moments, but soon his face was twisted up in a wince. “Oh Merlin. Not that mature.”

“I thought so.” Hermione’s voice was dry.

“So, food?” Draco asked brightly, now that Hermione’s attention was focused solely on him. She shook her head, then looked briefly around. No one was seated across from them, and no one seemed to be paying attention. She slipped her hand into her thin clutch and pulled out two apples. 

“You are the absolute shit, Granger,” Draco said, and took one of the apples gratefully.

“That’s more like it,” Hermione said, sounding pleased. They ate their apples together in companionable silence.

“It’s going to be fine,” Draco said suddenly. “I will be witty and charming and they will all fall in love with me. No misbehaving whatsoever.”

“I know they’ll all love you, Draco. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Draco waited, and Hermione gave a sigh. He had learned long ago that if he just stayed quiet long enough, she would talk.

“I’ve never been good enough for my family. They don’t know- they can’t know what goes on in my life. And so they make all these assumptions about me and they hurt. When I was thirteen my cousin Imogen told me I was lying because I said I had friends.”

“What a bitch,” Draco snapped. Hermione gave a quick smile at his earthy choice of words.

“Yes, she’s a bitch. You’ll see. They don’t know what I’ve done. All they see is an awkward book worm. And they’re going to see you, so suave and handsome and debonaire and they will see me, and they’ll wonder what on Earth I’m doing with you.”

“Well, as grateful as I am to know that you think I’m handsome,” Draco started, then winced. “Granger. Seriously. When did you become so violent?”

“Malfoy. You better have something to say other than complementing yourself.” Hermione’s voice was brisk, and her eyes were narrowing.

“I mean it, woman. Your elbows hurt.”

“Draco,” Hermione warned. 

“Hermione.” Draco sighed. “You’ve got this all backwards. You were top of our year, no competition. You were top of several years, come to think of it. You had twelve different programs trying to recruit you after graduation, you’re about to become the youngest Investigator in two hundred years, and if you were willing to put aside your stubbornness-ahem-“ Draco loudly gave a fake cough- “you would be serving on Wizegmont by now.”

“I’m not marrying you to serve on Wizegmont. And what do you mean, I’m about to become an Investigator. What do you know that I don’t?”

Draco waved away her questions. “I know what the vetting looks like before the jobs are offered. That’s all.”

“Nevertheless,” Hermione said, “my family doesn’t know anything about that. They don’t know about the war or Voldemort. They don’t see what came from that. All they see is dowdy Hermione.”

“I guess blindness is a family trait, then, Granger,” Draco said dryly. “Because the only dowdy thing about you is that awful wardrobe you packed. Don’t worry, I repacked it for you.”

“You didn’t.”

“You don’t even like anything that you brought. You just wanted to fade out of sight.”

This was so patently true it wasn’t worth fighting. “I can always apparate home and get clothes from there.”

“You could,” allowed Draco. “But you won’t. Because I’m correct.”

Hermione groaned. 

“That’s the spirit,” said Draco brightly.

Quickly enough they had arrived at the Bath Spa station, and Draco hailed a cab. Hermione let her mind wander as the cab drove through Bath. It was truly lovely architecture, she mused. An idyllic setting for a horrific meeting. It did not take long before they had arrived.

“And here we are. Woodward House,” the cab driver announced.

Woodward House was an elegant, luxurious hotel in the Royal Crescent. The exterior was flanked by a doorman in full suit and gloves, who nodded deeply to Draco and Hermione and silently opened the door. The lobby was posh and intimidating, with marble floors and a golden, glowing interior. Draco walked confidently forward as if this was nothing he hadn’t seen- which, if Hermione was being honest, it wasn’t.

The receptionist was young and beautiful and she lowered her lashes at Draco elegantly- not quite flirtatious, but more friendly than she might be with Hermione. 

“I have a reservation. Malfoy.”

The receptionists’ eyes flicked down, then upward.

“Certainly. And I see that the suite has already been paid for.” The receptionist made eye contact with a bellboy standing at attention near the columns, and he sprung forward. 

“John, Mr. Malfoy is in the villa.”

“Right this way, sir, “ John said, and he gestured for the bags. Hermione handed hers to him, feeling a thrill that felt almost dirty. She should not like the way she was deferred to when she was with Draco, and this hotel would give into her worst impulses.

“Another couple is with our party. Granger.”

“I have a room reserved for a Phillip Granger.” Hermione grimaced. Of course they would be in the same hotel as Uncle Phillip. Draco caught the look and smiled. 

“A relation?” Hermione closed her eyes and gave one brief nod. Draco chuckled, then turned back to the receptionist.

“Not quite. When Richard and Hélène Granger come to check in, please send them to us. They will be staying in our suite.”

“Certainly,” the receptionist responded. “And for now, John will show you the way.”

The villa was aptly named. It was larger than Hermione’s house, a two-story home inside the hotel. The top floor was taken up with two suites in the villa itself- two bedrooms, two elegant bathrooms, two sitting room. The sitting rooms overlooked the Royal Crescent. The bottom floor hosted a small kitchen, a parlor, and a private garden. 

“You don’t do anything by half, do you?” Hermione asked as she admired their suite, decorated in cool blues. There was a large four poster bed in the bedroom and a deep soaking tub in the bath. She could imagine lazy days spend here tangled in the sheets with Draco. She might have enjoyed the time spend here if not for the reunion. She wondered if Draco would be willing to go back.

“I try.” He smirked, and kissed Hermione on the neck. She sighed. He nuzzled in closer.

“So…” she let the word petter out. “Do you want to-”

Draco groaned. “Always,” he said, and they had just begun to leisurely kiss each other when they could hear voices. Specifically, the voices of Hermione’s parents. 

“That didn’t take long,” Hermione noted and groaned. She loved her parents, but had hoped for more time alone. 

“Not at all,” Draco agreed, then rested his forehead on Hermione’s. He stole one last kiss. “Come on, let’s go say our hellos.”

In the parlor downstairs Hélène and Richard were sitting, chatting and looking around. They stood when Hermione and Draco walked in. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Hélène said, and embraced Hermione. Richard, meanwhile, was shaking Draco’s hand. 

“Should have known better than to let you choose the hotel,” Richard was complaining amiably. “Now I’ll never stay at a nicer one. And Hélène will never stop looking.”

Draco laughed. “I actually tried to reserve a smaller suite. But it was booked. So,” Draco waved his arm behind him grandly, displaying the large room, “we must suffer in luxury.”

“Draco, darling, it’s good to see you,” Hélène said, walking close to him. They exchanged friendly kisses on the cheek, and Hermione and her father embraced. 

“May I get you all anything? Water? Tea? Champaign?” Hermione instinctively fell into the role of hostess. 

“Why don’t we go out and explore a bit,” Hélène suggested brightly, “and then we can eat an early lunch. Our treat.”

“Absolutely not,” Draco said. “I insist.”

Hélène waved away his insistence. “Our treat. It looks lovely outside.” And it did. And soon the small group was out walking the streets of Bath, looking for a suitable restaurant.

They found a small cafe to sit outside and watching the people pass by. Hélène and Hermione ordered coffee, Draco and Richard tea. And then they ate, simple clean tasting food that was satisfying to the hunger of having traveled, even if only a short distance.

“You needn't be so worried, darling,” Hélène said halfway through the meal. Hermione had been slowly picking at the salad she had ordered. “It will be pleasant and then it will be over.”

“I don’t think it will be pleasant,” said Hermione darkly. Hélène shrugged.

“Then it will be unpleasant, and then over.”

Draco nudged Hermione. “Come on Granger. You’ve faced dragons before. This is nothing.”

Richard shook his head.

“Of all the things that she elected not to tell us. Dragons. She was terrified of the dark until she was ten. Then she goes off to school.”

“And now she’s fearless,” Draco nodded, before shooting a pointed look at Hermione. She stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture then refocused his attention on her parents. “So how bad will it be?”

“Not bad at all!” Richard protested.

“Dinner tonight, dinner tomorrow, all meals on Saturday, then church on Sunday,” Hélène responded.

“And how many events are mandatory?”

Hélène shrugged, a gesture which meant all. Draco nodded.

“Well Granger,” he said, turning to Hermione, “at least we’ve got a few days after to recover.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes.“What do you mean, recover?”

“We’ve got the suite until Wednesday. Didn’t I tell you?”

She rolled her eyes and leaned over to kiss him. “Of course you did.” But she was in better cheer for the rest of lunch.

It was after a leisurely walk back through the Royal Crescent and after entering the hotel that the Grangers were found once again. Her mother had stopped to admire painting that looked suspiciously like a Turner when a voice boomed through the lobby.

“Richard! Now that can’t be you, old man.”

The voice belonged to a spry man who was looping through the lobby with the energy of a man who was used to getting his way in the world. He cheerfully clasped one hand on Richard’s shoulder.

“Good to see you as well, Phillip,” Richard said, and pulled him in for a brief hug. 

Phillip embraced Hélène next. “And always lovely to see you, mon chanterie.”

“You look well, Phillip,” said Hélène. 

“Ah!” Phillip said, rubbing his stomach. “That’s what those younger women will do, you know. Sonya insists on nothing but fish and vegetables for dinner. She says otherwise she won’t keep her figure. It’s a pain to follow the diet, but can’t argue with the results.” Phillip gave an enormous wink to Richard’s father, making clear exactly what results he was referring to. Draco disliked him instantly.

“And ah! Hermione. My, how you’ve grown.” He looked at Hermione a second more than was appropriate for an uncle to study his niece. “Why, the last time I saw you you were a foot shorter and now you’re a grown woman. Well done.”

“I don’t think I’ve grown a foot,” was Hermione’s strained answer. “Uncle Phillip, this is my boyfriend, Draco.”

“Draco, Draco. Is that short for anything?”

“Just Draco,” he responded as politely as he could, which, judging from Hermione’s wince, was not very. “Family name, you know.”

“Indeed, indeed,” muttered Phillip. “And your surname?”

“Malfoy.” At least he could give that in this world without any baggage. 

“I don’t believe I’ve heard that name around,” Phillip said, then looked momentarily bright. “Now, as Phillip’s only brother, I have the sworn duty of interrogating the boyfriend. Are your intentions honorable?”

What a peculiar question to ask. What did he mean by the opposite of honorable intentions? In the wizarding world that would mean very specific things. Could you be counted on to not rape, murder, torture, or otherwise inflict any Death Eater-esque behavior on Hermione? But here, especially with Phillip’s long assessment of Hermione’s figure and the way she had slowly inched her way closer and closer to Draco, the question seemed to be sexual in nature. Draco longed to answer with a thorough catalog of the ways that they had debased each other, to whip the smirk off of Phillip’s face. But Hermione would never stand for that invasion of their privacy.

“Of course,” Draco said instead, making the words crisp and sharp.

“Draco has been nothing but lovely to Hermione,” Hélène interjected. “Richard and I are thrilled to have him in the family.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of distrusting your judgment,” Phillip insisted with the charm of a shopkeeper who was about to make a sale. “But Uncles are a special breed of knowledge. Drake understands, doesn’t he?”

“I wouldn’t know about Uncles. I never had any myself.”

“No uncles?” Phillip asked, looking scandalized. Draco shrugged.

“My father was an only child and my mother had sisters.”

“And those sisters didn’t marry? Didn’t take care of their poor nephew?”

Draco shrugged, imagining Bellatrix’s reaction to being told she and Rodolphus should take care of Draco. It was not a pleasant imagining.

“Well, that’s a damn shame. So what brings you to Woodward House?”

“We’re staying here,” said Hermione, and she had a bright, false voice to match a bright, false smile. “We’re actually just returning from seeing the sights. Bath is lovely this time of year. Have you gone out to explore yourself yet?”

“No, I haven’t. We will soon, though. Sonya’s in the gym- younger women, you know how it is.”

“And where is Alex?” Hermione asked.

“Alex is in the room, playing video games. You know how these kids are- them and their technology. Inseparable. We just bought him a Boy Game for his birthday so he’s been playing that all day. It’s the newest thing, you know. We were lucky to even get one for him. They were sold out in five stores. Had to pay a woman who had bought one for her daughter twice the asking price.”

Hélène nodded along, although it was clear she did not understand what a boy game was all about. “And Rhys and Poppy, are they with you as well?”

“No, no, not yet. Rhys will be bringing them by later today with his girlfriend. Lovely girl she is, charming and very pretty. A lucky boy he is.”

“Indeed,” said Hermione. “We will see you at dinner tonight, then. I can’t wait to see Alex.” Hermione almost started dragging Draco off. Her parents made more leisurely goodbyes, then followed them down the padded hallway.

“He’s a tosser,” said Draco when they were out of earshot.

“Draco!” Hélène said. Richard sighed.

“He’ll be fine this weekend. As long as he gets it all out now.”

“We won’t be happy when he finds out we got the villa,” Hermione said darkly as they reached the door their accommodations.

“We’ll just have to invite them over for cocktails. Or tea. In the garden. Then he can’t be rude about it to your face,” Draco said as he strode into the sitting room and plopped onto the couch. Hélène shook her head.

“You English. All of your conflict over money and class.”

“You French. All of your pretending to be unaffected by money and class,” Richard said affectionately, and then kissed his wife. 

Hermione sat down next to Draco and he draped one arm over her shoulder. He liked this about Hermione’s parents. They were affectionate. They were demonstrative. His own parents had loved each other, but they would never do any more than touch hands for reassurance in the company of others. Seeing them kiss, even in privacy, was unusual. It meant an event, or something strange and dark was coming. But the Grangers had no such concerns. They kissed and touched and whispered to each other. When they were alone in rooms and someone walked in they often were rearranging their clothing. And the Grangers and no surprise or shame about he and Hermione having a physical relationship. Hélène had even urged Hermione to let Draco move in with her after a few glasses of wine. It had taken some time before the Grangers would trust Draco after hearing about his history. But they had eventually welcomed Draco into the family. He was grateful for that. Almost as grateful for the witch in his arms, who had given him a chance when he deserved none. For that, he would do anything for her, and protecting and supporting her through lecherous uncles and snobby cousins was no hardship at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for giving this story a chance! The French is wrong intentionally- Phillip strikes me as someone confident enough in his own correctness that he'd never admit to being wrong. This story is already up in full on FF.net, so if you're dying to finish it right away you can find it there.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

“So you have an Aunt Claire,” Draco said from the bedroom. He was attempting to undo the knot that resulted from trying to fasten his tie with a new spell.

“I had an Aunt Claire,” Hermione responded from the bathroom. “She and my Uncle Phillip were married and had my cousins Rhys and Poppy. And then Aunt Claire turned forty and Phillip married Sonya. Sonya is my cousin Alex’s mother.”

“How much of a gap between divorcing Claire and marrying Sonya?” Divorce was rare and taboo in the wizarding world. Draco only knew of one witch who had divorced, and she had successfully won her divorce after claiming to be under the Imperius curse. He knew that divorce was much more common in the muggle world, but judging from Hermione’s disgusted tone it wasn’t as acceptable as his parents had claimed. They had always used the availability of divorce as proof that muggles were barbaric. How could they abandon women like that? Seeing how Phillip seemed to have treated his first wife, Draco was reminded of the seductive power of that argument.

“A few years,” Hermione said. “He’s twenty years older than her. Isn’t that disgusting?”

“I just don’t see what the problem is with turning forty. Your mum is almost fifty, and she’s still beautiful.”

Hermione’s head popped out of the bathroom. “You think my mum’s fit.”

“Fit?” “You think she’s attractive. Do you have a crush on my mum?”

“I- dammit woman, there’s no good way to escape this.” Draco’s fingers finally loosed his tie. Hermione grinned widely. “All I’m saying is that I know I’ll be a lucky bloke when you turn fifty.”

“Not if I trade you in for a younger model first,” Hermione said, and she sashayed into the bedroom. “What do you think?”

Draco swallowed hard. “I think I’m a lucky bloke now.”

Hermione tended to favor comfort. She liked trousers and wool and jumpers and comfort. But every once in a while she liked to look spectacular, and tonight she did. The dress was a deep forest green that made her eyes look gold. It was structured, with a tulip skirt, defined waist, and fitted bodice. But overlaid was the softest, most sheer silk tuile in the same dark green overlaying the bodice and creating long sleeves. It was impeccable tailoring, draped and sexy but completely covered. It was the promise of passion, rather than winking sex appeal. Her hair was twisted behind her and her makeup was soft and elegant. Hermione looked like Grace Kelly in those old films she made Draco watch with her dad.

Her fingers found Draco’s tie. “You clean up just fine yourself,” Hermione murmured, focusing her attention on tying his tie. Draco reached down and kissed her gently, careful not to mess her lipstick.

“I have something for you,” he said, and he reached into his pocket. He drew out a small leather jewelry box and handed it to Hermione.

“This better not be a ring,” Hermione said pointedly. Draco held up his hands in mock surrender.

“I did not bring any rings, diamond or otherwise, on this trip. I understand that before you will accept any agreement to engagement we must date for three years without formally living together and then reevaluate how we feel about each other. If we enter into an engagement I further understand that you will not take the name Malfoy, live with my parents, quit your job, change your ideas on blood purity, suddenly begin to enjoy shopping, or otherwise engage in any other behavior that is not in your character. Now, would you please open the damn box?”

Hermione opened the box, and found a pair of dangling pearl earrings lying in red velvet. She held them up carefully. “Draco. They’re beautiful. Are they antique?”

“I found them in a vintage store in London. And I thought you’d make them even more beautiful.”

“It makes me feel better to know that they’re muggle,” Hermione confessed with a nervous giggle as she removed the small silver studs in her ears and replaced them with the pearl earrings.

“You don’t have to worry about wizarding jewelry for a while,” Draco said casually as he watched Hermione. “Narcissa still controls the vaults, and even if I had access I’d still need a team of curse breakers to assess all the pieces.”

Hermione gently touched Draco on the shoulder. “She’ll come around.”

Draco kissed Hermione’s knuckles. “We don’t need to talk about my rotten family right now,” Draco said, and he wrapped an arm around Hermione’s waist. He rested his forehead onto hers. “We’ve got your rotten family to worry about instead. Are you ready?” Hermione squeezed his hand in answer.

The restaurant was an old-fashioned sort of place, with dark wood and velvet seats. Draco felt instantly more relaxed than he did in the newer, more modern places Hermione liked to frequent. As she liked to remind him the wizarding world was about fifty years behind the muggle world. Maybe in fifty years chrome and neon and bright colors would be the trends in the wizarding world. He shuddered at the thought. There was a small, private room where the whole group was to eat. Sitting at the table was a proud looking woman of advanced age. Hermione headed there first, and Draco followed.

“Grandma! So good to see you,” Hermione said, her voice loud and bright. She kissed the older woman, who accepted the kiss on a cheek.

“Hermione. Why, you are as lovely as your mother,” her grandma said, the sort of rote greeting that Draco expected to hear much of this weekend. “And who is this?”

“Grandma, this is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, my grandmother, Mrs. Jean Granger.”

Draco took Hermione’s grandmother’s hand and gave it a kiss, feeling a bit like a lord being judged by a queen. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Granger.”

“Indeed. And how long have you been seeing my granddaughter, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Two years now, mum,” Draco said politely. There was a feeling like he could not cross this grand woman without great problems happening.

“Two years. That seems like plenty of time to have fallen in love. Why have you not proposed yet? Or do you only intend to string my granddaughter along?”

Hermione had a brief look of panic on her face. Draco rested one hand on her back reassuringly. “Your granddaughter knows what she wants. And what she wants is certainty. I am not allowed to propose until after she has given the approval.”

“Do you intend to?”

“If I were the one to make a decision we would be planning the wedding now,” Draco answered with candor. Hermione closed her eyes. Her grandmother regarded him closely, then switched her gaze to Hermione.

“Hermione, dear, do let him know quickly. I’m an old woman. I’d like to see at least one of my grandchildren married before I die.”

“You’re not that old, Mum,” interrupted Richard, who had a drink in his hand. “Your mum lived to be ninety-two. And you’re stubborn enough to outlast her.” Mrs. Granger surprised Draco by laughing at Richard’s comment.

“Richard, if I made the decision, I would never die.”

“And you’d lord it over all of us for every chance you get,” an older man said, walking up barely leaning on the cane in one hand. “Ernest Granger. And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy, sir. Hermione’s boyfriend.”

“Has my son given you the rundown?”’

“He has,” Draco said. He declined to say which son had done the examination. Mr. Granger harrumphed in approval.

“Excellent. That allows me to skip it myself. I’m sure you understand. I’m too old for such things now.”

“Yes sir,” Draco said, and Mr. Granger walked back to the chair next to Mrs. Granger. Draco had the distinct impression that he had just been dismissed.

Other people began to filter in. Draco was introduced to an Aunt Charlotte and her husband Graham, whose accent reminded him of McGonagall, though he seemed to drink far more whiskey than he could remember McGonagall drinking. Charlotte was a thin, nervous woman who kept her arm close to her husband and was constantly touching him, as if to remind herself that he was still there. Cousins began to filter in, and Hermione introduced them in rapid-fire succession. Phillip was the last to arrive, with a stunningly beautiful woman on his arm and a sullen-looking young boy following him. The boy had his head dipped down, staring intently at something. Hermione whispered to Draco it was a video game system.

“But how does it work?” he whispered back. “Games don’t need you to look at them all time.”

“I’ll explain later,” she murmured, her breath hot on his neck. He swallowed.

“If everyone wouldn’t mind taking their seat?” Richard said, standing in the center of the room.

The family filtered around a large circular table. Draco was seated next to Hermione, a small mercy. In the upper-class Pureblood circles he ran in they would have been seated far apart. It was considered improper to monopolize a partner’s attention in such a way. Here there seemed to be no such rules. Mr. Granger raised his glass, already filled with champaign.

“Thank you all for coming and celebrating our anniversary with us.”

“To 55 years!” Phillip cheered, and the rest of the table echoed back the chant, raising their glasses and clinking them together.

They were seated with of Hermione’s cousins. Miranda and Imogene were sisters, and looked astonishingly alike, both with long brown hair and big blue eyes. Imogene was younger, and the sharper of the two. She looked at Draco, then narrowed her eyes like a cat about to pounce.

“It’s so nice to finally meet a boyfriend of Hermione’s. I was under the impression that she wasn’t seeing anyone.” Her voice was syrupy and sweet, but her eyes were alert.

“We’ve been together for two years now,” Hermione said mildly.

“And how did you meet?” Miranda asked, delicately placing her napkin on her lap. She seemed the calmer and wiser of the two. She fit Draco with a steady gaze that made him feel as though she would know if he were lying.

“We met at school,” Draco began.

“And you’ve only been dating for two years?” Imogene interrupted, her voice full of innocence. Draco narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know what Imogene’s angle was but she had one. He didn’t need Hermione’s warning to suss that out.

“We’ve known each other since we were eleven, but we weren’t friends then.” Draco leaned back in his chair and recited the story he had practiced many times. “I was a nasty little shite back then, if you’ll excuse my language. And Hermione was the golden girl of the school. Top of our year, teacher’s favorite, helped win the house cup a few times. And she was popular and pretty. Even all my friends couldn’t stop talking about her. I was deeply jealous of her, and buried it in nasty words. I eventually came to my senses and apologized, and we graduated and went our separate ways. And then about three years ago I went to the government to file some legal documents for my company, and the person who I needed to see was Hermione.”

“And you just got together like that?” Miranda asked, her eyes wide and curious.

“Not quite,” said Hermione, her voice dry. “I threatened to throw him out of my office if he did anything untoward.”

“So I asked her out for dinner,” Draco said, grinning broadly. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“And it worked?” Imogene asked, deep skepticism etched onto her face.

“Not at all,” said Hermione promptly. “But the next day my best friend told me that he had been seeing a good friend of Draco’s, and wanted me to meet her. So I went to the dinner and Draco was there.”

“And so we had a little food, had a little drink, ended up dancing, and finally, she consented to spend time outside of the office with me. It took three months of spending time together voluntarily before she’d agree to a date with me.”

“That’s quite persistent,” Miranda noted.

“It took ten dates before she’d agree to be my girlfriend,” Draco said with a broad smile. “And now here we are.”

“Sounds like you’re a patient man,” Imogene purred. Draco frowned with the implication within.

“I am for the things worth waiting for,” he said pointedly, and gently ran his fingers on the side of Hermione’s neck.

“Imogene,” Miranda interrupted, her calm blue eyes catching entirely too much, “when did you say your boyfriend will be here?”

Imogene shot a quick glare towards her sister. “Tomorrow morning. I already told you this, Miri.”

“You didn’t mention you’d be bringing a boyfriend, Imogene,” said Hermione, latching onto the subject change.

“Well, Mione, you haven’t been around much. We met at a shoot.”

“Oh! Is he a model as well?” Poppy asked. Poppy was younger than everyone save Alex, perhaps sixteen, and still had the awkwardness of childhood.

Imogene nodded, her color bright and her voice happy. “He is, and he’s wonderful. Have you been to Picidilly recently?”

“Circus?” Hermione’s cousin Rhys asked and frowned. He was Poppy’s older brother and had a sporty, aggressive look that made Draco certain he would have been a beater if he was a wizard.

“No, Rhys, the other Picidilly. Of course I mean Circus. He’s on the billboard there for Marks and Spenser. An underwear model.”

Rhys’ girlfriend Alexia squirmed a bit. “Isn’t that a bit awkward, knowing that thousands of people have seen your boyfriend almost nude?”

Imogene laughed, a bright and artificial sound. “Why should it be awkward? He’s very fit. You’ll see. I’m lucky. You’ll see very soon.”

“How long have you been seeing each other?” Hermione frowned.

“A few months,” responded Imogene airily. “And since he has to be in Bath this week, I thought this would be a great time to meet the family.”

Dinner went achingly slow, with Hermione trying to keep talk off of them by asking dozens of questions of everyone else. She asked Imogene about her career prospects and steadily agreed that yes, Imogene was absolutely pretty enough to be a model. She spoke with Miranda about her post university plans. She asked Alex, the sullen boy playing the box, about his video games, and didn’t mind the one word answers. Dessert was being served by the time that the conversation had come back onto them.

“Now Drake, what’s your surname again?” Phillip asked, slurring his words.

“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” Draco said pointedly.

His wife gave a start beside him. “You wouldn’t be the same Draco Malfoy interviewed in the Telegraph last week?” Her voice was bright and clever with more than a hint of an accent, and Draco wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. With a woman so clearly a trophy wife, likely something dumb and bubbly.

“I am,” he said carefully.

“What was this all about?” Phillip asked. He had clearly had too much to drink- his face was red and he was swaying slightly side to side.

“It was in the article about MalTech, _pchelka_. I told you to read it. So Mr. Malfoy, you are the founder of this company?”

“Co-founder.”

“And yet it’s named after you.”

“My name sounded better. NottTech doesn’t have the same ring.” He had a careful arrogance in his voice, trying hard to get this conversation from going too deeply.

“So who is in charge of this company then?” Sonya was not going to let this go and as a businessman Draco could admire her tenacity. As a wizard trying to keep a secret, it was a minefield.

“Theo is the CEO. He devotes most of his time to the company. I serve as CFO and board member.”

“CFO and founder of a successful company at such a young age. I can only imagine what else is in store for you.” Her voice was honeyed. Draco dropped his hand below the table and grasped Hermione’s.

“Only good things, I hope,” Draco drawled, looking at Hermione the whole time. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was a picture perfect act- only Draco could tell she was vibrating with frustration.

After the dinner had finally concluded Draco and Hermione made as gracious an exit as they could. Hélène and Richard had decided to stay for a drink with a few of Hermione’s aunts and uncles. There were no cabs to be found in the streets, and so Hermione set off, walking at a surprisingly brisk pace for such high heels.

“Come on Granger. It’s alright,” Draco said, grabbing her wrist.

“They just make me sick!” Hermione burst out, abandoning the quiet politeness she had been holding all evening. “Imogene wants you because you’re mine. Sonya wants you because you’re rich. How can anyone do that to their family?”

“To be fair, I’m pretty irresistible,” Draco said, and instantly flinched, expecting and receiving a sharp jab in his ribs.

“Not helping Draco,” she growled.

He had expected her frustration at Imogene. That was obvious. Sonya was a different matter. Privately Draco thought that Sonya’s interest was much more business-like than seductive, but this seemed the wrong time to bring it up. Draco looked all around, and pulled Hermione into an alley. He took her face between her hands and looked deep into her eyes.

“Hermione. Imogene is jealous. She’s jealous because you’re smart and beautiful and accomplished. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll get over this hurt.”

“Imogene spent years calling me a frizzy haired beaver. She used to make me cry.”

“I spent years calling you worse,” Draco reminded her. “You forgave me. And you believe me now when I tell you you’re sexy as hell.”

“I don’t need my cousin to believe I’m sexy as hell,” Hermione sighed. “I just need to prove to her I’m not a wallflower.”

“A wallflower?” Draco’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, as they usually did when he encountered a muggle term he couldn’t understand.

“A girl who never gets invited to dance with boys. She just sits by the wall. Undesirable.”

“Well that’s a load of bollocks,” said Draco, and dropped his lips to Hermione’s. He begins to stroke her hair, getting his fingers entangled in the twist she spent so long making.

“You’re going to pull it out,” Hermione protested. Draco covered her mouth again with hers.

“It’s better curly anyway,” he said, but in deference he moved one hand on her bum, one on her upper back. He pushed her against the side of the building and kissed her more intensely. “Is this what they call a wallflower?”

“Draco.” She meant to sound disapproving, but couldn’t quite manage as his lips moved down her neck. “

It’s not such a bad thing then,” he murmured as his hand left her back, and brushed aside the neckline of her dress to start trailing kisses down her collarbone.

“I know-“ she gasped- “I know what you’re doing.” Her hands raised to his hair, twining the fine strings through her fingers.

“Good of you to figure it out. Gods, I want you,” he whispered roughly.

“Can’t wait, can you?” Hermione laughed. She could feel it too, though- the pounding, raising want between them.

“Never,” Draco growled. “Are you ready?”

Hermione kissed him in response and she turned, taking Draco with her as they apparated into their hotel room. “So,” Draco said, stalking towards Hermione in their luxuriously appointed bedroom. It was almost a shame how beautiful the room was. There was so much that could be done in this room that simply felt wrong. “Wallflower.”

“A wallflower is not someone who has sex on the wall,” Hermione said primly as Draco swaggered towards her. “ think it is. It makes much more sense.” His hand grabbed Hermione’s as she went to unzip her dress. “Leave it on. In fact,” he said, looking her up and down in a slow, smoldering manner, “leave it all on.”

Perhaps she was a wallflower after all. But as Draco touch enflamed her, and as she responded, Hermione reflected that she quite preferred his definition of the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Everyone else met Imogene’s boyfriend at breakfast. But Hermione and Draco ordered room service, on the flimsy excuse that they overslept. Hermione had not. She fell asleep quickly entwined with Draco the night before, but woke at sunrise consumed with dread.  


There was no real reason to fear any of this. The worst that could happen was no one would like her. She had dealt with not being liked before. This was not new to her. And she knew her family. They still had to tolerate her, no matter how much Imogene sniffed. 

When Draco stumbled out of bed at a much more reasonable time he found her curled in an armchair, staring out the window with a book in her hand.

“Hermione. What’s wrong?”

“This is some new form of torture. I should contact work and see if family reunions can be punishable by a stint in Azkaban."

Draco gave Hermione a light kiss. “Have you been thinking about that all morning?”

“I don’t belong here,” she sighed. “I haven’t since McGonagall turned up on my parent’s stoop and turned their teacups into turtles.”

“Of course you belong here,” Draco snapped. “This is your family.” 

Hermione hunched over. “But what if I don’t.”

Draco’s fingers started to trace patterns on Hermione’s scalp. 

“You, my love, are going to take a shower. And I will order us room service. And then we will go with your family and you will slay them. Because you are Hermione fucking Granger. You’ve faced dragons and death and bigots and monsters. You’ve fought in battles and in courtrooms, and I’ve never seen your courage falter. And I will be damned if I see you be taken down by a two-bit model who’s jealous of a life she can’t even understand and is so thick that she thinks the best way to flirt with a bloke is by insulting the woman he loves to her face.”

Hermione let out a long sigh. “You’re right.”

“As usual.” 

She gave him a ghost of a smirk. “No, just this one time.” She stood, and kissed Draco soundly.

“I love you,” she said. “I’ll be out soon,” and then she sashayed into the bathroom.

The shower was a luxury. Large and elegantly curved, lined with stone, and supplying a steady stream of perfectly heated water. The soap and shampoo that the hotel had provided were far nicer than the ones that Hermione kept at home, and she allowed herself to forget about her family for a moment, focusing instead on the feel of washing her hair and the scent of lavender. Maybe, just maybe, she would give into Draco’s complaints and let him pay for remodeling her bathroom. She couldn’t tell him this now, or he’d never stop going on about it. A few weeks down the road, perhaps.  

When she had finished her shower and had dressed herself in a simple sundress Draco was in their sitting room There was an enormous spread. Croissants with jam and butter, porridge, fruit, rashers, sausages, and grilled tomatoes. Hermione poured herself a cup of coffee from a silver pot and inhaled the bitter fragrance. This was luxury. She could get used to this. And she could never tell Draco, because then he would ensure she did get used to it. Absurd man.

Draco was already drinking his own coffee, heavily sweetened and with so much cream it appeared tan in color. When Hermione sat next to her, he jumped up, and began dividing the food. Porridge and fruit with rashers for her, the croissants and sausages for him. But there was at least three times as much food here as she could eat.

“These portions are a bit much,” said Hermione as she gently stirred cream into her porridge. 

“I’m certain they do it to avoid extra work,” said Draco. “I can’t imagine how they do it without magic.”

“You cook without magic at home,” Hermione reminded him, nudging him with her bare feet.

“I do?” Draco responded with a cheeky grin. Hermione merely raised her eyebrows at him. “Yes, yes, fine, I do. But that’s for two people. Just whack some chicken in the oven and make some rice on the hob. I don’t know how they feed hundreds of people without magic.”

“There are people who study in school and work for years to learn how to do so,” said Hermione, and she took a bite of her porridge. It was divine, exactly what she would have wanted. Judging from the enthusiastic way Draco was eating, he felt the same. 

“Is it that hard that you have to study for it? It can’t be as hard as transfiguration or- what is it called that you’re studying?”

“Public policy.”

“It can’t be as hard as public policy.”

Hermione shrugged. “We’re both fairly bright and neither of us have managed to cook anything worth tasting. I think it’s harder than you think.”

“Pansy managed to learn it,” Draco commented. 

Hermione frowned. “Why?” She had come to like Pansy now, although it had taken some time. But Pansy came from a rich family that was relatively unaffected by the war, and her father adored her- enough so that even her dating a blood traitor did not affect her inheritance. It was difficult to think of her working as a line cook at a muggle restaurant, even the high-end ones that Pansy ended up at. 

Draco shrugged. “I think she’s bored. And tired of people treating her like a spoiled little rich girl.” He paused and a solemn look came in his eyes. “Her mom wants to cut her off.”

“Because of Ron?” Hermione was aghast.

Draco nodded. “Apparently her mom thought that it was just something she had to get out of her system. She wasn’t counting on her beloved daughter, the product of two great pureblood lines, actually falling in love with a blood traitor.”

Hermione sat with that for a while. She had never had to choose between her family and her relationship, and she could only imagine what Pansy was going through. 

“So why cooking?”

Draco flashed a bright smile. “She said it’s useful, it’s fast, and she gets to shout at people and use knives. And no one treats her like she’s delicate.” Draco paused for a moment and Hermione had to admit the picture made perfect sense. “I think she likes it a lot. She’s been talking about opening a magical restaurant- there really aren’t very many other than pubs or stuffy pureblood enclaves.”

“And if she’s running a business then she won’t have to rely on her parents for money,” Hermione nodded along. 

Draco declined to answer. Instead he took an enormous swig of his coffee. “Drink up. We’ve got another family to deal with.”

Hermione groaned. “Of course.”

“What do we have today?” 

“A turn about the gardens, and taking the water,” said Hermione in a bright, posh voice. “Then lunch.”

Draco stood and offered Hermione his arm. “Sounds positively Victorian. If Narcissa ever speaks to me again I’ll have to send her here. Show her the bright new future of Wizarding luxury.”

“Perhaps she could even go to a Nickelodeon.”

“What’s that?

“It’s a short film.”

“Like a show on the telly?”

“Even shorter. Five minutes, maybe ten. Black and white. No sound. She’d find them not too frightening.”

“The highest compliment anyone can give,” Draco drawled, and he held the door open for Hermione as they left their suite. 

Her family was gathered in the lobby, or most of the family. Sonya was fussing with Alex, who had his video games out again and refused to look up. Phillip was talking with his sisters, Bea and Charlotte. Hermione’s grandparents were sitting, surveying their family with mild interest. Miranda and Nicholas waved them over. 

“So sorry,” said Hermione. “I was so exhausted last night that I slept through half of breakfast.”

“It’s quite alright,” said Miranda, but her voice was a bit strained and she was scanning the lobby in a very un-Miranda type way. “You only missed meeting Imogene’s boyfriend.”

“Not to worry,” said Nicholas, and gave a very cheeky wink. “He’ll be here for the remainder of the reunion, so you’ll have plenty of time to get to know him.’

Miranda sighed. “I don’t understand why Imogene decided to bring him. I’ve only heard about him a handful of times before this weekend. She simply must get over this inferiority complex of hers. I’ve told her a dozen times."

“But that’s her journey she has to make, not yours,” Nicholas reminded Miranda, and pulled her close and kissed her hair. “And she’s on her way now, so no more about this.”

Miranda sighed, then straightened and smiled. She turned and then began to wave. Imogene arrived quickly, followed by a tall, well-built blonde man. 

“So sorry to be late,” said Imogene, the words ringing with a false sincerity. “Cormac needed me to show him to my- I mean- our room.” She gave a small giggle. “Cormac, babe, this is my cousin-“

“Hermione?” 

Oh Merlin. It was him- the wavy golden blonde hair, the height, the broad shoulders, the same arrogance, the hot-headed nature.

“Hello Cormac,” Hermione said, her voice even. She took a deep breath and wondered how many more unpleasant surprises she’d be getting this weekend. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” Cormac said, and behind him Imogene blanched. He studied Hermione carefully. “You look good.” 

Hermione had to force herself not to take a step back. “This is so funny. Imogene said that you two met at a shoot?”

“Oh,” Cormac said, and looked back at Imogene. She was silently seething. “Yes, yes, it was a big shoot for Primark. And I asked that they bring in the hottest girls they could find. And none of the girls were hot enough. So I made them bring in more. And one of those girls was Imogene. Well, I always pride myself on my eye, so I made the photographer shoot the two of us together.”

“Then he said,” Imogene broke in, very obviously threading her fingers through Cormac’s, “two people so attractive should be together for real. And he asked me out to dinner.”

“I took her out for dinner at Piedmont for our first date. Have you been?”

“No, not yet,” Hermione said politely, her smile straining. 

“Well, it was a fantastic date. With a fantastic bird. And then… it kept going. But I don’t think that I need to tell you that. Sure you don’t want to hear that about your cousin.”

“A gentleman never kisses and tells and all that,” said Draco dryly. Cormac turned on him and his eyes narrowed. 

“Cormac, you remember Draco?” Hermione provided, and sighed internally. She quickly looked around. No one else seemed to be paying attention, which was for the best. She’d prefer to obliviate as few people as possible. 

Cormac’s eyes narrowed even more. “Malfoy.”

“McLaggan.” Draco, in return, looked almost bored. He held out his hand, a hand that Cormac stared at for a beat too long before taking it and giving it a short, grudging shake. 

“And you’re here because?”  


“Same reason as you. The tag along.”

“Oi,” said Nicholas. “That’s a bit harsh. What happened to better half?”

Draco laughed. “Words that will never be said about me in regards to Hermione.” Draco let his hand fall onto the small of Hermione’s back and let it linger there. Hermione gave a gentle smile. Two years of dating Draco had taught her a bit about the power of image. Normally these power plays drove her crazy, but here it felt like a bit of an emergency. Cormac looked like he was about to burst. Then her grandmother stood up.

“As we are all assembled,” her reedy voice rang out, “we shall begin our tour of the garden.” And the group began to shuffle out into the garden. Hermione grabbed Cormac’s sleeve.

“We’ll be right there,” Hermione said. “I just want to take this moment to catch up.”

Draco nodded. Imogene stalled. “I’d love to hear what you have to talk about.”

“It’ll be boring, babe,” Cormac said. “And it’ll be five minutes.” She hesitated longer, then Miranda swept her arm around Imogene. 

“Come on,” Miranda said, “Mum will be spare if she sees that we’re not with everyone.”

Hermione waited until the group and filtered out then crossed her arms and stared at Cormac.

“Why are you here McLaggan?”

“It’s good to see you too, Granger. You’re looking fit.”

“Why are you here?” Hermione repeated. 

“Do you know how damaging that is to my ego? You women need to learn to be gentle with men.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself a third time, McLaggan.” Hermione warned. Cormac threw his hands up in the air.

“Fine. I’m here because my girlfriend invited me. That’s all.”

“And your girlfriend just happens to be my cousin?”

“Yes!” Cormac insisted. “I’ve been working in the muggle world since the war. I barely keep in contact with anyone who’s not family. Why is that so hard to believe? Stranger things have happened."

“You know she’s a muggle,” Hermione warned. 

“Oh, I know. You know, she reminded me of you when I first met her. Same determination, same smart mouth. She even looks a little like you.”

Hermione ignored that comment. “Again, she’s a muggle. You cannot tell her anything. Are you really ready to keep secrets like that from her?”

“That’s the thing about muggle girls,” Cormac said in an oily voice. “They don’t need serious. They don’t mind secrets. They’re positively flexible. None of this self-loathing, sex-sabotaging, breeding-for-bloodlines bullshit that witches are about. They’re happy with a good shag. It’s brilliant. That’s the real reason that I was told to never mess with them- too much fun.”

“She is a person with feelings, McLaggan. Not a toy.” Hermione’s voice was harsh. “And if you don’t treat her like a person I will hex you so hard that you’ll never model again.”

Cormac drew himself up to his full height. “I am from the clan McLaggan. We have been practicing Magic in Britain for two millennia, much longer than your Norman boy toy. My father is on Wizegmont. You can’t threaten me.”

“You’ve been out of the wizarding world too long, McLaggan.” Where Cormac was raising his voice Hermione’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Blood lines don’t mean much anymore. You might be a pureblood, but I’m Hermione Granger. I helped bring down Voldemort, and I am Shaklebolt’s handpicked protégée. You remember Harry Potter, don’t you? He’d be responsible for investigating your case. Now, how many people do you think would believe you over him?” Cormac swallowed hard and his gaze left Hermione’s. She gave a triumphant smile. “I didn’t think so.”

Hermione stepped back and gave him a bright smile. “Be nice and keep the secrets, and we’ll have no problem. Won’t we, Cormac?”

McLaggan took a deep breath. “You know you’re positively arousing when you’re angry, Granger?”

Hermione took one deep, shuttering breath in then met Cormac’s eye. “Draco tells me that all the time, McLaggan.”

“That’s the other thing, Granger. How the hell did a girl like you end up with a guy like Malfoy?”

“That’s none of your damn business,” Hermione spat, and stomped off towards the garden. 

The group was strolling slowly through the lovely gardens by the time that Hermione and Cormac had caught up with them. Imogene glared at Hermione.

“What did she want?” Imogene immediately asked. Hermione glared at Cormac. Cormac gave an easy smile.

“Wanted to make sure I was over her, is all.”

Hermione sighed. At least it was better than the alternative, but my God, couldn’t he have made it be about something other than himself?

“Over you?” Imogene sounded confused and defensive. 

“Ah, your cousin and I knew each other at school. And there was one night with too much drinking and a bit of snogging. That’s all.”

“You two snogged?” Imogene looked incensed. She glared at Hermione. Hermione snorted.

“There was one date, where he tried to trap me under the mistletoe. It was not repeated.”

“You never told me that,” Draco said, his voice almost sounding hurt but his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You were there,” Hermione said primly. “Slughorn’s Christmas party.”

“Malfoy was invited?” Cormac asked, looking angry.

“No, I crashed,” Draco responded smoothly. 

“Hoping for a glance at Hermione?” Cormac sounded accusatory.

“Daphne Greengrass, actually.”

Cormac gave a low whistle. “She was fit. What ever happened to her?”

“She married Theo Nott. I understand they’re both very unhappy together.”

“Weren’t they close?”

Draco shrugged. “They always got along just fine. But it was an arranged marriage. Theo was not interested in settling down, and Daphne was caught in Tracy David’s bed more than once.”

“An arranged marriage? At this day and age?” Miranda protested. There were deep furrows in her eyebrows.

“The amount of money those two families controlled was obscene,” Draco drawled. “Arranged marriages are a custom in both their families. And so now they live in a drafty old house together, both of them sleeping with other people and staving off the questions of when they’ll have a baby.”

“That sounds miserable,” Miranda said flatly. Nicholas nodded.

“I’ve known a few people who have had parents pushing for arranged marriages. It’s a rotten deal.”

“Your family seems like the sort who would try for that,” Cormac said, thinly veiled accusation in his voice.

“They tried,” Draco said lightly. “I was due to marry Daphne’s younger sister, actually.”

“What happened?”

“Astoria wasn’t of age by the time I graduated, and by the time she was I was already disowned. Pretty hard to force a marriage when you have no leverage.”

“You’re disowned?” Imogene asked. Cormac looked at Draco curiously.

“I haven’t spoken to my family in four years,” said Draco mildly.

“Is your dad still in prison?” Cormac asked roughly. 

“The last I heard he was on house arrest,” Draco said delicately. “That was four years ago, again.”

“What did you do?” Imogene demanded.

“That,” said Draco with a great deal of finality and a touch of impatience, “is a story for another time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this! It's such a treat to get to revisit my first fanfic, and I'm grateful there are people enjoying it with me.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

 

The family was assembled again for dinner, this time in the hotel itself. Phillip was in a jovial mood, attempting to celebrate. The food was rich and decadent and Hermione found herself picking at it. Even if the company hadn’t soured her mood, she would have to eat carefully with the fare served. If she finished everything on her plate she wasn’t certain she would fit into the dresses that Draco had snuck into her suitcase. 

She had to give him credit where credit was due. The dress for tonight was a pitch-perfect choice. The navy lace sheath with a wide boat neck wasn’t one that she would have ever chosen for herself, but it made her look lovely and grown up. Like with all of Draco’s selections, it gave the hint of seduction without ever lingering too long in the tawdry possibilities. She would have to thank him later. Alone, of course. She could imagine Imogene’s reaction upon learning that her boyfriend had chosen all of her clothing. She would both mock Hermione for not having any taste and imply that Draco was dating her to hide his sexuality. It wasn’t that Hermione couldn’t dress herself. She was able to pull herself together frequently in the public eye without embarrassing herself. But the fact remained that Draco’s lifetime exposure to money and power gave him an instinct for the politics of dress that Hermione could never hope to match. She had long ago stopped fighting his contributions, and he had similarly accepted that Hermione would never consent to look anything like herself. 

“It’s probably for the best that your fashion sense is conservative,” Draco had casually said one night after yet another muggle evening gown had magically appeared in her closet the week before a Ministry function. “If it was too daring it would be difficult to harness when you run for Minister.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean, when I run for Minister?”

Draco fixed her with a piercing look. “Well, you’re planning on it, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t that he was wrong. Merlin, no, he wasn’t wrong. But she had told no one about this desire. She hadn’t even wanted to jinx it by writing it down.

“Conservative muggle dress will be a good way to split your image. The conservatives will be reassured that you aren’t in the thrall of progress for progresses sake, and the progressives will be delighted that you keep with your muggle roots. We just have to make sure it’s smart, not dowdy.”

“Are you saying I’m dowdy?” Hermione demanded, very intentionally avoiding the true subject at hand. Draco waved away her concerns.

“I’m saying you’re wearing jeans and one of those horrible plaid shirts again.”

“It’s called flannel. It’s comfortable.”

“So’s cashmere and you never wear the jumpers I buy you.”

“Do you know how much they cost to clean?” Hermione chose to respond with outrage.

Draco rolled his eyes. “So, to whit, the brightest witch of her age, who obtained eleven NEWTs, studies at Oxford in her spare time and corresponds with some of the most brilliant magical minds of our time, still hasn’t learned how to scorgify a jumper.”

“It’s a tricky bit of magic,” Hermione protested, her voice weak. 

“Of course,” Draco said, his voice dry. “I forget how difficult you find tricky bits of magic. Luckily of you, I’ve the ability.”

And of course, damn him, he was right. The cashmere was sinfully comfortable against her skin. So was silk. She didn’t like to give into him- it gave him too much pleasure- but she wasn’t so stubborn as to refuse for the sake of refusing. 

Draco’s fingers on her back interrupted Hermione’s remembrances. It was likely for the best. As tempting as it was to drift off into memories, being with her family was like being in battle. The stakes were lower, but she could not relax. Her guard had to be eternally up.

And Hermione had missed something. There was laughter around the table. 

“And then Imogene came running into the dining room saying that Hermione had locked herself in the bathroom with her book,” her Aunt Charlotte was saying to the assembled family. “And lo and behold, when we went to get Hermione, the door was stuck. This was at our old house- do you remember it?”

“Yes, yes,” said Uncle Phillip, “there was that small bathroom for the children upstairs. 

“Indeed,” said Uncle Graham. “And because that bathroom was for the children there was no lock in the bathroom.”

“You mean…” Aunt Sonya began.

“Hermione had somehow locked herself into a bathroom that didn’t have a lock. We had to get a ladder and get in through the window of the bathroom. And the funniest thing was that Hermione wasn’t even upset. She was just absorbed in her book.” Aunt Charlotte looked up and caught Hermione’s eye with a wide smile. “Do you remember that night, Hermione?”

“Of course,” said Hermione. Imogene had teased her about reading her book instead of wanting to talk about boys, so much so that Hermione started to cry. She then was chased by Imogene, calling her a crybaby, all the way into the bathroom. And Imogene had started to say bad words to Hermione that Hermione hadn’t heard before but knew they must be bad by the way she said them. Then, suddenly, the room went quiet, and Hermione took advantage of the quiet to read her book. They found her later, tears dry and absorbed in her book. She was eight, and it was one of the earliest examples she could remember of accidental magic.

“What book had you so interested?” Miranda wanted to know. Miranda hadn’t been there- Hermione couldn’t remember why. Perhaps she had been with a friend. It had never been that Imogene behaved with Miranda was around, but she was never quite as mean. Miranda had never been cruel. Ignorant, occasionally, but she never joined in with the teasing of Imogen, and sometimes Rhys. 

Hermione gave a wry smile. “Matilda. I loved that book.”

“I never could enjoy Matilda myself,” Rhys broke in. “I just never saw the point in reading about a magic girl.”

“Fantasy is the last resort of unexceptional,” Imogene nodded. “Hawking said so.”

“I don’t know,” said Cormac. “I’d be interested in a magic girl at that age, if you understand.” He leered at Hermione and she felt hot all over. 

“I prefer Einstein’s words myself,” said Hermione before she could help herself. “If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be very intelligent, read them more fairy tales.”

“And did that work for you?” Imogene asked with a poisoned sweetness.

“I’d say so,” said Draco, the first time he’d dropped into the conversation.

“Yes, but what bloke wouldn’t proclaim their girlfriend as intelligent when she’s right there?” Rhys asked, gesturing to Hermione. She leveled a glare at him. Rhys’ girlfriend was watching him carefully, and Hermione was sure he’d have an earful later tonight. “He’s not an unbiased source.”

“Not at all,” Draco responded smoothly. Is this how pureblood conversations went as well, or were all their insults more veiled? “But would working for the Home Office as an analyst while pursuing a degree at Oxford count as an unbiased source of intelligence? Because I’m given to understand that doing either relies on high intelligence, but to do both at the same time requires brilliance.”

Hermione’s cousin Poppy rounded on her. “You didn’t mention you worked for the Home Office!” Her voice was accusatory. 

Hermione offered a gentle smile. “I did mention I work for the government.”

“And Oxford?” Imogene was not smiling now. “How impressive Hermione.”

“Thank you, Imogene,” Hermione said, and took a delicate sip of her wine. Whatever Uncle Phillip’s flaws, he had chosen the wine well. She let the intense flavors of the Nebbiolo wash over her tongue before focusing again on the conversation. 

“What, exactly, do you do in the Home Office?” Uncle Phillip asked her. She was grateful to have squared all of this away.

“I work as an analysis monitoring hostile threats within our country. I’m sorry, but I’m not really at liberty to say any more.” It wasn’t wrong, exactly, just not the full truth. And thanks to a bill that Hermione helped craft two years ago, anyone who looked in muggle records for Hermione Granger would find exactly that for her employment, just as anyone who searched for Harry Potter would find him listed as Major Potter, trainer at the British Army and Ron Weasley was Captain Weasley of the Royal Air Force.

Phillip nodded, his face filled with disappointment. Then he brightened. 

“Are you aware, perhaps, of one Kingsley Shacklebolt? He was an old neighbor of mine and he used to work at the Home Office. Moved a few years ago- I’m not certain if he still is there.”

“I’ve worked with Mr. Shaklebolt,” Hermione said, trying to mask her shock. Her family was completely muggle. She had checked the logs to confirm. This must be a coincidence. “He’s quite a bit my superior, but I’ve been put to work on a few of his cases.”

“A few cases?” Cormac asked. “Now that’s funny. I’ve been given to understand that you are- what was the wording again?- Shaklebolt’s hand-picked successor.” Cormac gave Hermione a cheeky wink. Her wand was tucked into her purse, and there was no way she could discreetly pull it out at the table. She chose to respond as a Muggle might, by delivering a sharp kick under the table to Cormac’s shins. His eyes widened as she made contact but he made no noise.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Mr. Shaklebolt as well, Cormac,” Hermione responded instead. “He is quite brilliant, isn’t he? It would be an honor to be considered such, but as I said, he’s quite a bit my superior.”

“Sharp man, very sharp.” Phillip nodded. “The sort one wants in government.”

Hermione thought about Kingsley, with his slow, deep voice and calm manner, and his sharp mind. After the defeat of Voldemort his plate had been quite full, but in the past few years he had Hermione serve on an advisory panel on muggleborns and their situation in the Wizarding world, as well as sponsoring her transfer from Creatures to Magical Law. 

“I sleep better at night knowing there are men like him in high positions,” Hermione said, both carefully and honestly. She raised her glass, desperate to change the subject. “Uncle Phillip, this wine is exceptional.”

“Thank you Hermione,” he said, and puffed up his chest. “It’s a 1983 Nebbiolo, from the Northeastern edge of Piedmont, Italy. Very hard to find anymore, but nothing pares with steak better.”

“It tastes a bit like blood,” Miranda said, frowning into her glass. Nicholas, who had a hyphenated last name and likely a title, drained his glass and winked at her.

“It tastes a lot like blood. Delicious.”

“It is a bit much,” Aunt Charlotte said carefully as she took a delicate sip. “Hélène, you know all about wine. What do you think?”

“I only know French wine, alas. This is all new to me. It’s an aggressive wine, no?”

“Very aggressive,” Draco agreed. He had scarcely touched his glass after his initial sip. He preferred his drinks sweet. He liked his tea with sugar, his coffee with sugar, butter beer in the place of beer itself, and his wines like juice. Hermione feared for the state of his teeth. He, on his end, insisted that she had a masochist streak, that one should not have to suffer when imbibing a beverage. Hermione longed to steal his glass, but if she drank much more tonight she would be dangerously close to affected.

“I’m with Malfoy on this. Give me scotch any day,” Cormac said as he drained his glass. 

“I don’t understand what all the fuss about wine is,” Poppy complained, wrinkling her nose at the glass. 

“It’s all about the earth. It’s a perfect expression of where it came from, how it was grown, how it was created and nurtured. It is like people in this way,” Sonya said, taking a delicate swallow of her wine herself.

“Did Uncle Phillip teach you about wine?” Imogene asked. Hermione stopped her inner fight and stole Draco’s glass. As long as she didn’t become sloppy tonight would not be a disaster. And a bit more wine would help it be less arduous.

“I’ve been studying wine for years before I met your Uncle.” Sonya’s voice was haughty and proud. Hermione could relate to her anger. “I was training for my sommelier certification when we met.”

“I thought Russians drank vodka,” Rhys said, just as Imogene spoke.

“I thought you met because you were his waitress.”

“That sounds like a perfectly reasonable place to study wine,” Nicholas said mildly. Hermione liked him, for his calm manner and kind nature. 

“Russia has some of the best soil for grapes in the world,” Sonya said. This was the most Hermione had heard her speak since the evening began. Her hand rested on Alex’s hair, who was absorbed into his GameBoy. She twirled her fingers around his curls, like she was trying to remind everyone she, too, was a Granger.

“But it’s so cold,” Poppy said, just as the servers arrived to bring out dessert. 

“Champaign?” Uncle Phillip offered, and the cork was removed like a shot.

 

Later at the hotel Hermione started to undress. 

“Draco, help me with this,” she said, lifting her hair up from her zipper. Draco traced his fingers down her upper back.

“I’d love to.”

“And then I could return the favor,” Hermione purred as Draco slowly unzipped her dress, and she felt cool air on her skin.

“I’d love that as well,” Draco said, “but we have to be quick.”

“In that mood tonight?” Hermione arched a brow and started to unbutton his dress shirt.

“Not quite. Your cousins are coming over for drinks in the garden.”

“Draco!” Hermione was horrified.

Draco kissed her quickly. She pushed him away.

“No. You can’t do that without asking me!”

“Hermione.” Draco grabbed Hermione’s wrists. “This will be good for you. Believe me. And if it’s terrible, we can kick them out because you need your beauty sleep.”

“Beauty sleep that I’m getting alone,” Hermione warned. Draco smirked. “I mean it Malfoy,” Hermione said. “You’re lucky that we have a sitting room because you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Yes, yes, I’m terrified,” Draco said as he examined his nails. “Now get changed into something. We have guests to charm and intimidate.”

“Which are which?” Hermione said suspiciously. Draco grinned.

"Why, charm them all and intimidate them all. What other options are there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. You're the best. <3


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

The garden attached to the villa was luxurious. There were torches lit and a fountain with water gently falling in the background. It was carefully landscaped to look completely natural. Underneath an alcove were a set of plush couches set around a bronze coffee table. Hermione sighed as she took a seat. She didn’t understand these gardens. What was the point of spending so much effort to make it appear as though you had spent no effort at all?

Draco sprawled out next to her as if he had not a care in the world. Her cousins gathered around as well. Alex was not joining them. He had spent his dinner sullen and upset that Sonya had taken away his GameBoy, and even if he were in a mood he was far too young to join the rest of his cousins. But Poppy was joining them, even though she had just turned sixteen. Rhys and his girlfriend, the very proper Alexia Melita, sat carefully on another couch, a good two feet of space between them. Joining them on the couch was Nicholas, who pulled Miranda into his lap. He looked around cheerfully. 

“Charming garden, really. You got quite lucky with this one, mate,” Nicholas addressed Draco. “I’d spend no time indoors if I staying here.”

“Ah, Hermione’s much more of an indoors kind of girl,” Draco teased. She stuck her tongue out at him. Draco continued, ignoring Hermione’s gesture. “Indoors is where all the books are.”

“That’s not true,” said Hermione primly. “I am perfectly capable of bringing the books outside to read.” 

Nicholas laughed, a bright sound. He seemed like a shimmering apparition. Whatever field Nicholas would go into- and Hermione did not know, because he studiously avoided talking about himself whenever questions were directed at him- she had no doubt he would succeed. Miranda relaxed her head against his shoulder.

“Speaking of books, if you’re at Oxford, then you must get to spend time in the Bodleian,” Miranda said. Hermione nodded.

“I make every excuse to go there,” she responded. It was such a beautiful space that Hermione found herself taking on extra projects just to linger there. Poppy sighed.

“I’d love to go to Oxford. We went for a school trip once and got to see the Bodleian. It would be worth studying there just for that.”

Hermione felt a surge of gentleness towards Poppy. For all her silly outward frivolity, she really was just fine. Hermione wondered if that lightness was inherent in Poppy, or if she would have had it too if she hadn’t grown up in the middle of a war.

“You should make a visit. I’d be happy to put you up for a few days while you feel out the campus.”

Poppy gave Hermione a grateful, tentative smile. “I’d like that.”

Draco stood to go fetch drinks, and Hermione felt at peace with him for the moment. Perhaps he was not wrong. Perhaps this was the push that she needed to reconcile with her family.

While Draco was in the kitchenette, opening bottles of wine and bringing glasses, the door to the garden opened and Imogene arrived with Cormac. She had changed, as they all had, but where everyone else was in some variation of clothing to relax she had changed into a short, brightly colored dress. She teetered in high heels, then stumbled over to Hermione’s couch and sat down. Cormac settled next to her.

“Are you alright Imogene?” she asked, her voice soft. Imogene giggled in response.

“You alright? You aright? Aright aright aright,” she parroted. Miranda buried her hands in her face.

“Evidently not,” Hermione said stiffly, and tried to help the slouching Imogen sit upright.

“Always so stuffy, Mione. What kind of name is Hermione, anyway?”

“Come off it,” Hermione snapped. “You’re not that drunk.”

Imogene sat up taller. “Fine,” she snapped, and stared at Hermione with glittering eyes. She dropped her voice. “We can play like this.”

There was an awkward silence behind them, and then Rhys broke the conversation.

“What do you think Arsenal’s chances are?”

His girlfriend Alexia stared at him intensely.

“Oh,” Nicholas said, and cast wildly about. “Man U will destroy them.”

“No chance,” Rhys responded instinctively. Imogene was carefully pouring herself a glass of water from a tray on the coffee table. She watched the rest of the assembled like a cat.

“I agree with Nicholas,” Alexia responded. “Arsenal is fine, but Manchester is a powerhouse. Never bet against the house.”

“That’s a gambling rule,” Rhys insisted. “We’re not gambling.”

“It still seems a safe bet,” Hermione added. What on earth was with boys and sport? Even Draco liked football now. 

No sooner had the thought of Draco appeared than he rematerialized, carrying four wine glasses in each hand and with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, “it took a bit of time to find everything.” Hermione jumped to hosting duties, helping him untangle his possessions and open the bottle. They passed a glass out to everyone who was willing, which was everyone assembled. Draco raised a glass.

“To the Granger family reunion,” he intoned, and drank readily from his glass. Hermione and all the others followed suit. The wine was sweet and heady, just what she would have expected from Draco’s choice. 

“Delicious,” purred Imogene. “Much better than the wine at dinner.”

Draco sent a panicked look to Hermione. She arched her eyebrow at him. He had so long boasted about how charming and handsome he was. He had proclaimed a preference for the adulation. Let him handle it himself.

“It’s certainly more approachable,” said Hermione, after too long of a pause to be polite.

“Damned by faint praises,” responded Draco. “That hurt, Granger.” Hermione shrugged in response.

“Well, of course Hermione can’t stand for things to be easy. Or simple,” said Imogene. It was remarkable now, of course, how sober Imogene appeared. Hermione could envision it- Imogene cozying up to Draco, Imogene kissing Draco, Imogene blaming it all on her drinking last night, but _of course Draco couldn’t resist her._

She had known Imogene for all of Imogene’s life, and she had never done well in school, but she was cunning and clever. But Draco was a Slytherin to his core, clever and ambitious, and although Hermione knew that he loved her for herself, she also knew him well enough that he would never damage his own carefully rehabilitated image by cheating on her. And he would not be tempted by such a poor playing of the game of seduction. But Imogen had no way to know this.

“I’ve never understood it myself,” Imogene said. She pouted prettily. For whatever her ugliness, Imogene was beautiful, and she knew how to leverage that beauty. She was beautiful in a way that Hermione had long accepted she would never be- strikingly, instantly beautiful, with enormous blue eyes and an English rose’s complexion. It was just a shame that Imogene used her beauty as a weapon. “Why the need to struggle all the time. Don’t you agree, Draco?”

Miranda was watching her sister with sharp eyes. “I disagree,” she said. “If you are not willing to fight for something, can you really say that you want it?”

“Excellent point,” jumped in Nicholas. “Wants are arbitrary and fleeing things. Our desires, however, those things that we will sacrifice and work for, are what give our life its meaning.”

Imogene flashed a pretty smile at Nicolas. “I forgot that you studied philosophy, Nicholas. What did you study, Draco?”

Hermione tried to calm her breathing. They had been over this. 

“Chemistry,” Draco responded. “And Maths. I didn’t have much patience for philosophy when I was in school. I didn’t have much patience for much. But my time since has taught me the value of persistence.” His fingers gently circled Hermione’s wrist, an almost offhanded gesture that should be impossible to miss by any careful observer. That was the trouble with Slytherins, Hermione thought. They were attuned so deeply to the subtlety of symbolism that they assumed everyone else was. 

“I never thought of you as much of a university man,” Cormac said. His casual voice held more than a hint of insult. “You always seemed more of a riding on Daddy’s coattails type.”

“Like I’ve said, I’m reformed,” Draco said. His voice was short.

“Chemistry sounds fascinating,” Imogene said, her voice all milk and honey. “I’m split between studying chemistry and business, myself. You have a chemistry degree and you work in business. What would you recommend?”

“It- ah- depends very much on your desired outcome,” Draco said. Hermione could feel the stress radiating off of him. His glass was empty of wine. He absentmindedly pushed up his sleeves to pour more wine.

“Is that a tattoo?” Imogene asked, her voice husky, her eyes caught on his left wrist.

An inch of Draco’s mark could be seen where his sleeves had rolled up. He glanced down at it, then pushed them back down.

“Yes,” he said, his voice curt.

“What made you decide to get a tattoo?” Imogene asked, her voice full of promise. 

“Youthful rebellion,” Draco said shortly as he refilled his glass and took a deep sip. “Stupidest thing I ever did.” His arm encircled Hermione’s waist, pulling her closer, like she was his shield from the oncoming darkness.

Rhys snorted. “If the stupidest thing you’ve done is get a tattoo then you couldn’t have done many stupid things.”

“It’s a truly stupid tattoo, Rhys,” Hermione said, her voice light. “Ungodly ugly.”

“I just find tattoos fascinating,” Imogene tried again. Alexia shuddered. 

“Not me. I can’t stand the look of them. It’s like a child decided to draw on a human.”

“Agreed,” Cormac said, and scowled into his wine. “Tattoos are always bad news.” He alone was studiously avoiding seeing Draco’s wrist.

“I think it shows boldness.” Rhys insisted. Alexis rolled her eyes. Hermione had the feeling that Alexia and Rhys would not remain together for long. 

Draco shrugged. “When they’re well done, I do enjoy them myself. I quite like Hermione’s tattoo.“

Imogene forced herself into a false smile. “You have a tattoo, Hermione?”

“I do,” Hermione said, volunteering no more information.

“When?” Poppy demanded. “Why?”

“My best friends and I got matching ones after we finished school.” As close to the truth as she could manage. “It’s a phoenix. I got mine on my shoulder.”

“I bet that’s so cute,” bubbled Poppy. “Do you all show them off when you go out together?”

An unbidden image, of Harry, Ron, and herself all at a club wearing matching strapless dresses arose. Hermione tapped down the giggles.

“We don’t. We also each got the tattoos in different places.” Months after the battle of Hogwarts she had felt twitchy and uncertain. The war was over, but it hadn’t felt concluded. Harry and Ron had felt the same way. And so they all left Grimmauld Place one morning together, and instead of watching the trials found a muggle tattoo shop and got matching Phoenix tattoos. Harry had his against his ribs, secret and solemn. Ron’s flew across his bicep. 

It was the only tattoo for Harry and Hermione both, but Ron had acquired a taste for them after his first. A crown on his left wrist, Fred’s initials on his right. A chess piece- a knight- on his neck. It seemed as if every few months he would show up with a new bit of ink. He was a sight whenever he went out into the wizarding world. Tattoos were still mostly reserved for Death Eaters, and there had been more than one old biddy who had shouted at him before realizing who he was and aggressively apologizing. Younger women seemed to find him fascinating- the hero as a bad boy. Draco had taped the picture of Ron and Pansy together that first appeared in the Daily Prophet onto Hermione’s refrigerator. _War Hero’s Secret Slytherin Scandal?_ the headline had proclaimed. There was Pansy, looking petite and delicate, holding the hand of Ron, tall, covered in tattoos, and clad in a leather jacket. He had a cigarette in his mouth and his other hand was displaying two fingers to the camera. It was a scandal for months.

“Let’s see it,” Imogene demanded. There was no polite way to decline, and besides, it was a fairly harmless request. Hermione tossed her curls over her shoulder and turned to her cousins as she shrugged the loose jumper down her back. 

“Oh, that’s so pretty,” Poppy said. “It’s like a watercolour.”

“Very,” sniffed Imogene. Draco silently poured more wine. Imogene took a large sip of hers.

“So why a phoenix?” Miranda wanted to know.

“I like the symbolism of it all,” Hermione said. She took another sip of her wine and grimaced at the sweet taste. Perhaps it was for the best. She would not have the urge to drink too much and lose her wits.

“I admire you both,” said Nicholas. “I can never settle on any one thing I want. I seem to change my mind every fortnight.”

Imogene pouted and tossed her long hair. It was curly, like Hermione’s and like Miranda’s, but Imogene’s fell in soft, romantic curls rather than Hermione’s tight spirals. It was streaked through with honey and copper. Imogene really was beautiful.

“That’s pretty, Hermione. But I would love to see Draco’s tattoo,” she purred. 

“I don’t like to look at it myself,” Draco countered. It was almost amusing to watch him flail about. He was always so confident, always with a purpose, but here in the muggle world he was stripped of every status that he was accustomed to, for good or for bad. 

“So, Granger. You got that with Lovegood and Ginny, then?” Cormac said. He was watching Imogene with twitchy eyes and he seemed upset with her interest in Draco.

“Harry and Ron, actually,” Hermione said. She didn’t want to answer the questions that Cormac was pushing, but she found no way to recuse herself politely. It was like a battle that no one else could understand. “My closest friends.”

“Even after you and Weasley dated?” Cormac’s voice was taunting.

“Even after.” Hermione’s voice was firm.

“Mate, I don’t know how you do it,” Cormac said, directing the comment to Draco. His eyes were cold. “Your girlfriend is best friends with her ex-boyfriend. Doesn’t that ever bother you?”

Draco took a long, delicate sip of wine, then set his glass down onto the copper coffee table with more sound than necessary. “No.”

“Really? Because what man in his right mind wouldn’t be jealous?”

“The kind who trusts his girlfriend,” Draco said shortly.

“But does she trust you? I heard that you’re still friends with Astoria, even after that broken engagement.”

There were so many places to go there, that Astoria and Hermione worked together and Hermione served as a mentor to her, that Astoria and Draco were never engaged, that going to school together for so long meant that everyone in their circle was romantically linked in some way. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hermione said instead of explaining everything, and stared directly at Cormac, challenging him to explain his question to everyone. She could expose him and crush him. Hermione could feel the desire to hurt him coursing through her body and she tamped it down.

“Trust in relationships is a precious thing,” Nicholas offered. “I’ve been blessed with that. Miranda’s an angel. My ex-“ he shook his head, and everyone turned to look at him. “She tried to get me to cut off contact with all my female friends.”

“Did she have reason to be jealous?” Alexia asked. Her posture was perfect, her syllables were crisp. It was interesting, Hermione thought, the way that people’s class came out. Nicholas, who was sprawled out on a couch, his girlfriend seated on his lap, still carried himself like a prince. Alexia looked too out of place to have come from money. Hermione could understand and empathize- that was how she had felt when she and Draco first began dating. 

“I never gave her any reason,” Nicholas shrugged. “She feels differently.”

“What did you do?” Cormac asked, his tone belligerent.

“I began dating a female friend that she had wanted me cut off contact with a few months past our break up.”

“And how’d that work for you?” Rhys asked. Alexia shot him a quelling glare.

Miranda leaned back. Nicholas brushed her hair away from her shoulder, and dropped a kiss at the base of her neck.

“It’s been working out brilliantly, in fact.” Miranda was glowing like she was lit by a candle. 

“Sometimes you find love where you find it,” Hermione said. Nicholas nodded seriously. 

“And when you do,” he said, his voice steady and warm, “it’s almost magical.”

 

 

Everyone did not stay as long as Hermione had feared. Poppy began to nod off after half a glass of wine, and Imogene pulled Cormac away with aggressive gestures shortly after. Miranda and Nicholas left when Alexia abruptly informed Rhys she was exhausted. Hermione gathered up the wine glasses that littered the coffee table to bring back into the kitchen. Draco gave a quick glance around, then levitated them out of her hand. 

“We shouldn’t-“

“It’s fine, Hermione. No one’s here.”

Hermione was exhausted from all the near fights she had that night and just nodded. She could accept this small bit of magic today. She let Draco tidy up, while she went back to their bedroom.

Draco had replaced most of her clothing with his own choices, but he had left the soft flannel of her favorite pajamas. They were the one thing that he had never threatened to throw out, perhaps knowing they were the one thing that she truly loved. She had changed and was tying her hair into a long plait when he arrived at the door and stared at her.

“What is it?” She asked. She was tired and a bit irritable, and had to fight her impulse to take it out on him.

“You’re beautiful,” Draco said. Hermione laughed.

“I’m in the ratty flannel you hate so much.”

“And you’re beautiful.” He slowly approached the bed, then- crawled was the wrong word, he did it with such grace- crept towards her. He stroked her cheek and she leaned into his touch.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s exhausting, Draco,” she murmured. “And I wasn’t expecting him.”

“I know,” Draco said. He shifted his weight so that Hermione was leaning against him. She closed her eyes, focusing on feeling his breathing. “Why couldn’t she have taken up with any other wizard? I found myself wishing she was with Longbottom, of all people.”

“Neville’s a good man,” Hermione protested.

“Uncomfortably good,” Draco agreed. “It’s annoying.”

There was a long silence, long enough that Hermione could feel herself starting to drift off to sleep.

“Let’s take a break tomorrow,” Draco said. “See the sights. Get away from your family for a bit. I think that no one could argue too much about that.”

“Of course they could,” Hermione said, but the idea had merit. “I’ve always wanted to see the Roman baths.”

“Right then,” Draco said. “Tomorrow. Us. Alone. In a bath.”

“We’re not going to take a bath,” Hermione said.

“That’s not what I heard,” Draco countered. His voice was playful. He kissed Hermione’s forehead, then untangled himself from her to wash up for bed. By the time he had returned she was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

“So these are just old baths?” Draco asked, craning his head around the vast entrance halls to the Roman baths. It was half filled with people, most of whom were older than Hermione’s parents. They, like many of the tourists around them, were clutching pamphlets describing the baths history. Hermione was carrying an audioguide. Draco had refused one himself, saying that if he wanted everything overly explained to him he’d just ask Hermione. 

“Yes,” Hermione said. She hadn’t slept well the night before and wasn’t in the mood to explain further.

“And that’s why the town is called Bath?” Draco’s voice was innocent. Hermione didn’t trust it. She narrowed her eyes.

“Yes.” The word was sharp and crisp. She waited.

“Creative,” Draco nodded, and looked around again.

“Your family named your home after yourself.”

“Ourselves, Hermione. It’s not called Draco Manner now, is it?”

“That would have more been creative,” Hermione said. Draco shrugged, and gestured towards the museum. 

“Shall we?” he held out an arm. Hermione laced her fingers through his. 

“We shall.” 

The Great Bath waited for them in the museum. The Roman architecture, the aquamarine water- the whole thing had an air of solemnity to it. It was a silent space. Draco squeezed Hermione’s hand. She returned the gesture. Here they seemed to understand each other without needing to communicate. Hermione remembered something Harry had said about when he and Dumbledore had found the locket. The place had known magic. The baths had as well. There was a hum, gentle and soft, that seemed to echo throughout the air. The muggles couldn’t have felt it, but they too spoke in hushed voices and were gentle with their steps. They recognized that there was something ancient and powerful here. After a bit Draco nodded at Hermione, and led her back to the museum. She followed, just a bit hesitant. She felt like she was walking away from a sacred space. 

They made their own ways through the exhibits, exploring the museum at their own speed. Draco darted ahead, while Hermione lingered behind. She listened to every word of her audio guide and read every plaque on every item. There was an astonishing amount of items on display. She would love to learn more about the history of Roman magic in the UK. Hermione made a mental note to keep an eye out for books on the subject. 

There was a power to learning that Hermione had never tired of. Magic was wonderful- she could make things appear and disappear. But learning- learning gave you the understanding of the world. Books had taught her so much. When she was a girl her parents used to take her to museums like this one once a month as a present. In the halls of the British Museum she could immerse herself in history and forget that she was teased in school. She could ignore every cruelty, because books had taught her that the world was vast and fascinating. It had been the same in Hogwarts. She had made sense of the world by memorizing textbooks and trawling the library for information. Learning could be her refuge this weekend as well. What were Imogene’s cruelties or Cormac’s conjectures when people had been in this very place for thousands of years, behaving much the same? Knowing this made her better, calmer, happier. She was back in the protective world she had built for herself many times in the past. And she was lost in this contentment as she explored relics and coins and conjecture about what the baths were used for.  


Hermione caught up with Draco in a room that showed how the Romans would have heated saunas. 

“They used the energy of the Earth itself, Granger,” Draco said after he had spotted her from across the room. “It’s brilliant. It’s like magic.”

“It’s called geothermal energy,” Hermione said, excitement in her voice. “It’s ingenious now. There are scientists working to harness its power again as an alternative to petrol.”

“How many things are like this?” Draco asked suddenly, staring at the small stacks of columns with fascination in his eyes. Hermione began to walk over to him.

“What do you mean? How many Roman baths? Quite a few. Hundreds, I imagine. These are just some of the best preserved.”

“No, no,” Draco quickly looked around. They were alone besides two old women, chatting happily with strong Yorkshire accents. He waited until she had approached him, then leaned in closer and dropped his voice.

“How many marvels are there? I know that muggles have vaccinations and space travel and computers now. But how many things are like this?”

Hermione understood then what he meant. How many feats of engineering had been ignored in the wizarding world because someone discovered a spell that would do the same thing? How many brilliant ideas had he not been exposed to? How many refutations were there to the argument that muggles were dangerous beasts without any ability for thought? And how many to the newer, more refined argument, that muggles now were intelligent and novel, but if you went back even a hundred years they were dangerous and violent and wizards were right to fear and shun them?

Hermione leaned even closer to Draco. “Thousands, Draco. Maybe millions.” She brushed a kiss over his cheek.

Draco nodded and returned his gaze to the stones. “I wish I had learned this. Of all the foolish things I was taught as a child, I could have learned something useful.”

“Would it have helped?” Hermione asked. Draco shrugged.

“Maybe. It would have complicated my pretty picture, at least.” He sighed dramatically, then looked at Hermione. He smiled at her.

“At least I know not to make that mistake with our children.” He brushed her jaw with his long fingers. There was an intensity in his eyes that made Hermione long for privacy.

Hermione shivered. This conversation was taking turns for all sorts of intense. 

“Our children?” She asked with an archness, a lightness, anything to break the mood. “I don’t know that children fall on my timeline.”

“Of course they are Granger,” Draco shot back with a lazy, seductive smile. “They’re in-between marrying for money and becoming Minister.”

“Funny,” retorted Hermione. “I thought I was planning on marrying for love.”

“Oh, you will be,” Draco assured her. “It’s impossible not to love me. But the money will be a nice side benefit.”

“Who says I’m marrying you?” Hermione said, and stepped closer into Draco, staring up at his intense gray eyes. He coped her face in his hands, and stared back at her.

“Me, if I can help it,” he whispered, and kissed her, gently and soft and so carefully it felt like the world stopped for just a heartbeat. He broke off the kiss and rested his forehead on Hermione’s. 

“Besides, are you really going to turn down a bloke that can snog like that?” Draco asked. Hermione pushed him away from her.

“I will if he’s a prat.”

“Ah, I knew there was something I needed to work,” Draco said, and he entwined his fingers in hers, and they walked through the museum again, seeking lunch and levity after the intensity of the baths. 

 

After lunch they returned to the hotel, where Miranda and Poppy were in the lobby. Miranda waved her over.

“We’re thinking about doing a bit of a spa day. We could turn it into a girl’s day. Fancy joining us?”

“Oh,” Hermione said, and reflexively looked over to Draco. “Do you mind?”

Draco waved- literally waved- away her concerns. “Not at all. I’ve been dodging some calls from Theo for the past day. I wouldn’t mind getting some work done.”

“Then sure,” said Hermione. She gave a tentative smile. “Are you going now?”

“We’re just waiting for Imogene,” Poppy said. 

“Shall I meet you at the spa, then?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, yes. Go drop your things. We’ll see you soon.”

Back in their room Hermione groaned.

“Draco, do I have to?”

Draco looked up from his papers.

“Is that a trick question?”

“They’ll make me do girly things like massages and face masks.”

“That sounds horrible,” Draco said. “Imagine the torture of having to sit around and be pampered. Should I call the Aurors now, or later?”

Hermione groaned. “I could be doing useful things. Not just sitting about.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. “You could. Save that it’s the weekend, and you’re already on vacation. And you’re just looking for an excuse to avoid spending time with your family.”

“I hate you.”

“You hate when I’m right,” Draco corrected briskly. “Now go. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“It’s just going to be horrid.”

“Hermione,” Draco said, and his voice was kind. “If I was wrong about you and your family, and I was, then maybe you could be wrong about yours too.”

 

And that was how Hermione found herself sitting in a “relaxation pool” with Miranda, Imogene, and Poppy. It was quite warm- almost as hot as her shower that morning had been, and the jets in the pool were meant to relax the muscles and sooth relaxation. Hermione was not convinced any amount of jets could relax the tightness she felt in her muscles. 

“How was this morning?” Hermione asked, casting for a safe topic of conversation. Poppy giggled. 

“Grandmum told Cormac that he was a strapping young man. Then Grandpa got jealous.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. Her grandparents were always just so- old. The thought of them feeling anything other than stoicism was foreign.

“It was pretty amusing,” Imogene admitted. “Cormac was rather flattered. Grandpa started bragging about how many women he dated before Grandmum.”

Miranda sighed and shook her head. “I know more now than I had ever wanted to about Bertha Jones.”

“Who’s Bertha Jones?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Miranda replied. “But apparently she was a real looker, with gams for days.”

“Ugh,” Imogene said, and wrinkled her nose. “That was the one he called a real good-time girl.”

“I didn’t want to know that about Grandpa,” Hermione said.

“Me either,” Poppy shook her head, and then laughed again. Hermione gave a weak chuckle. Maybe Draco was right. Maybe this meeting could be redeemed.

“What did you and Draco do today, Mione?” Imogene asked.

The nickname set Hermione’s teeth on edge immediately, but she tried to rein herself back. Imogene looked only curious. “We went to the Roman Baths. They were really fascinating. Have you been?”  


“Can’t say I have. History was never really my subject in school. They look very pretty from the outside, though.” Imogene sank deeper into the water. “Oh, but does this feel good.”

The baths were housed in an ancient, well-maintained Roman temple which had an elegant Victorian-era entrance added on. Nothing about the baths were pretty. They were elegant and imposing and haunting and stately. Pretty was the wrong word. Pretty was a word for the superficial and unimportant.

“I would highly recommend seeing them,” Hermione said, trying to hide her annoyance with Imogene. “There’s so much interesting local history around here. It’s quite a shame that there won’t be enough time to see more on this trip.”

“I’m certain you’ll manage to pack in more learning,” said Imogene, not looking at Hermione as she stretched her long neck side to side in a lazy manner.

“What do you mean by that?” Hermione’s voice was short. 

“Only that you’ve always been bookish,” Imogene said. Her voice was losing some of its warmth. “And I hope you spend your time here in a way that’s enjoyable to you.”

“I am,” said Hermione. “I rather enjoy being smart.”

Imogene raised an eyebrow. “That’s rather fortunate for you.”

“I would recommend it.” Hermione’s voice was stiff. “It’s served me well.”

“Cormac mentioned something like that.”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asked, her voice carefully blank. Of course Cormac would go and gossip to his cousin about her. Her face felt hot, and she was grateful for the heat of the relaxation pool. Any flush could be blamed on being too warm. 

“You went to school with Cormac,” Imogene said.

“I did.” Hermione’s tone was mild.

“And he said that you were-”

“A swot?” Hermione said with infinite patience. 

“I don’t like that word,” jumped in Poppy. “I’ve been called that a few times, and all I want to do is pass my A levels.”

“You just got to know how to let loose, Poppy, and then no one will call you a swot,” Imogene said, and gave a bright wink.

“Or study all you can, then beat them all to Uni and jobs. That’s the better revenge.” Hermione’s voice was dry. 

“Well, sure,” said Imogene. “If you’re interested in revenge. And Cormac didn’t call you a swot. He just said that you were in the top of all your classes.”

“I’m fairly content with the way things have ended up,” Hermione said. “I seem to have done well for myself.”

“Bully for you.” Imogene’s voice was dry, but her cheeks were flushing as well. That made Hermione push forward, like on an instinct. 

“Are you happy, Imogene? Are you happy with your life?”

“I did fairly well in school. I now have my own flat in London, a successful modeling career, and a very yummy boyfriend. What do I have to be unhappy about? What should I rather have?”

“I work hard in school, and now work for the Home Office, own my own home, and have a boyfriend of my own. I make my living using my brain, not my body. And I’m proud of that.”

Imogene closed her eyes. Her breathing was coming out harsh. Hermione could feel her heart pumping her blood. Miranda and Poppy were looking back and forth at Imogen and Hermione in silence. 

“That’s the problem with you, Mione,” Imogene finally said calmly after she opened her eyes. “You could never accept that other people might want something different than you.”

Hermione grit her teeth. She had been accused of being rigid too many times. By Ginny, when Hermione asked her why she would choose to play Quidditch, with all its risks of injury and death, rather than take the journalism job she was offered after Hogwarts. By Ron, when he broke up with her six months into their relationship. By Draco, when she balked at the massive sum he was ready to invest in his business that had no promise of success. But it was one thing to be accused of it by people who knew and loved her, and another by a girl who hadn’t seen her in years, even if that girl was her cousin. And that anger led her to attack. 

“What are you going to do when your looks fade?” She sounded absurd, but she couldn’t care anymore. It was like a damn had broken.

“When you can’t get any thinner but the companies still want you to lose ten pounds? When you get priced out of your flat? When your friends try to sleep with your very yummy boyfriend? Do you even think about all of these things?”

“So you admit that he’s yummy,” Imogene dead panned, her eyes glittering. “But I have to warn you, he’s mine.”

“You can keep him,” Hermione spat.

“Does it make you jealous?” Imogene taunted. “To know that your dumb cousin, who you always were so much better than, can attract any man you want? I saw how Draco was looking at me. You saw how Draco was looking at me. And now your ex-boyfriend wants me. How does that make you feel?”

“Pity, mostly,” Hermione said and she stood, then walked out of the relaxation pool. She sauntered over to the chair where towels were laid, and wrapped herself up, then walked out of the spa. 

Once she had closed the door she started running. She hurried down the spa’s warm blue corridor back to the hotel, then raced up the stairs, wet and dripping. No one was around, a small blessing. She was so upset that she felt like she would shoot sparks at anyone who tried to stop her.

No one else was in the suite. She collapsed when she arrived back onto her bed, barely noticing that she was soaked wet and the comforter was getting damp.

She couldn’t stand Imogene. Couldn’t stand her at all. So why was Imogene’s disdain for her so affecting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story. The next chapter should be up in a few days!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

Hermione was lost in her thoughts for a long time when the door opened and Draco strolled in, attired in a suit and tie. “Oh. Hermione. What’s going on?” His voice was concerned. Hermione thought about how she must look- her hair damp, clad in a towel, and crying. Where had Draco been?

“Where were you? Why are you dressed like that?”

“I had an impromptu business meeting.”

“With whom?” Her voice was sharp. She hadn’t heard about any such meeting.

“Your aunt Sonya, in fact. She wanted to ask about some investing opportunities with our work.”

“My aunt wanted to meet with you to invest in your company?” Disbelief flooded her voice.

Draco loosened his tie and strolled over to her. “Yes. Because that’s what happened. She’s quite smart- she had a lot of good questions and quite a few bright ideas. I’ve set up a more official meeting later this month with Theo and her so we can discuss more fully.”

“My uncle’s trophy wife says she wants to meet with you to invest in your company, and you believe it?” Hermione pulled herself up and wrapped her arms around her legs. Her voice was hot and impatient and somehow she could not care very much about how irrational she sounded.

Draco stopped his walk towards Hermione and cocked his head. “Yes, I do, because there was no impropriety with our meeting. She’s smart, Hermione. You mentioned that your Uncle gained a lot of money in the past few years. I think it’s directly because of her. She was mentioning some investment she did in a fruit company out in California. I might actually look into that one myself- it sounds like it could be profitable.”

“Smart enough to play the long game with seduction?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t think she’s interested in me, Hermione. And even if she was, I’m in love with you. It’s you that I want. It’s you that I wake up with every morning and go to sleep with every night, it’s you that I love, it’s you that I want to marry and raise impossibly curly haired bookworms with. Why are you not trusting me?”

Draco’s words echoed in Hermione’s head. This was not his fault. She closed her eyes and leaned against the bedpost.

“Draco, am I judgmental?”

“Yes,” Draco said without any hesitation. Hermione’s eyes flew open.

“Why would you say that?” she demanded.

“You just accused your aunt of wanting to sleep with me while we had a business meeting,” Draco said, his tone dry. “I don’t know what other words you would use for such behavior.”

“Imogene said that I can never accept other people want different things than I do.”

“She’s not wrong,” Draco said. Hermione’s eyes swarmed with tears again. She felt fragile, and hated herself for the feeling.

“I just want what’s best for people,” Hermione said.

“I know,” said Draco, and he stepped closer to Hermione, capturing one of her curls in between his fingers. “That’s why you’ll be a brilliant politician. But that also makes you a bit tough to deal with sometimes.”

“Like what?”

“You didn’t want me to buy a car because it was a waste of money, despite it being money that I can easily afford to waste.”

“It was quite expensive!” Hermione protested. “And you aren’t as rich as you used to be. What happens if we need that money one day?”

“Hermione. I could buy a hundred cars before we get to that point.”

“That’s not the point! It’s the principal of the matter.”

“But we don’t all live by principal, do we?” Draco was infuriating when he was this calm. “Most of us don’t. Your fellow Gryffindors don’t even. It’s just your self-righteous streak. And I love that about you. Hermione, I do. But you don't accept that everyone doesn’t feel the same very well.”

Hermione closed her eyes again. “It’s exhausting being the goody two shoes all the time.”

She felt the bed shift as Draco sat next to her. “What happened?”

Hermione told him about her argument with Imogene, curling up on herself as she spoke. She felt stupid and small for getting so upset about something like that. Draco wrapped one arm around her shoulder as she finished, and let her lean against him.

“Hermione,” Draco sighed. “You have to accept her for who she is. If you ever want to have a relationship with Imogene-“

“I don’t!” Hermione protested immediately. Draco continued on without responding.

“If you want to have a relationship with Imogene you can’t keep judging her for her choices.”

Hermione hung her head. “I just get so defensive. She gets under my skin.”

“She’s not that bad, you know.”

“I know,” Hermione said, and they sat in silence for a long time. “She used to be a lot worse. For a long time she was the avatar of all the bullying I got from everyone else. And I can’t stop defending myself to her, even though she’s not picking on me anymore.”

You’re better than that, you know.”

“I just can’t be with her.”

“So change the story.”

“What do you even mean?” Hermione stared at Draco. He gave her a wicked smile.

“You were jealous of Imogene because she was pretty and popular as a kid, right?.”

“You don’t need to remind me that I still am neither pretty nor popular.”

Draco fit Hermione with a hard stare. “Spare me the self-pity. So if Imogene’s hold on you is from her being pretty and popular, then you just need to be more of both.”

Hermione sighed. “Oh God. I sense a teen movie makeover coming on.”

“What?” said Draco, looking deeply confused.

“You know what a movie is, Draco.”

“Knowing what a movie is does not explain that sentence, Granger.”

“Never mind,” said Hermione hastily. “Aren’t you supposed to be advising me to take the high road or something? To work on myself and seek forgiveness?”

“Merlin, Granger, I know I’m a reformed criminal, but you honestly don’t expect me to go all Hufflepuff on you?”

“I get it. You’re still a Slytherin. Then what am I doing, Draco?”

“We’re going out tonight. All of us. You, me, Imogene, and Cormac.”

“Oh no,” said Hermione.

“Oh yes,” said Draco. 

 

 

It was after another stiff, awkward dinner that there was a knock on the door. They were due to go out to the clubs in two hours- he only hoped it was enough time. He opened the door to find a beautiful women standing outside. 

“Daph,” he said, and embraced her. “It’s been too long.”

“Well, you know,” said Daphne, “my tosser of a husband seems too interested in taking up all your time. I think he might be cheating on me.”

“To be fair, you are as well,” Draco said, and kissed her hand. Daphne gave a full-throated laugh.

Daphne Nott, nee Greengrass, was beautiful. She had been the belle of pureblood society, a family without the score of a Death Eater connection but still immensely rich. Even if she hadn’t had those connections men would have fought over her hand. She had perfect bone structure, shinning auburn hair, and quicksilver grey eyes. Add to that a dab hand at beauty charms and an instinct for dress, and she was a force. Every man fell in love with her at least a little when they first met. And Daphne was not interested in any man.

“Who is it now?” Draco asked as the two of them climbed up the stairs to the private sitting room where Draco trusted Daphne could work her magic. 

“Cho Chang.”

“I thought she was straight,” said Draco as they entered the sitting room and found a seat. 

“Human sexuality is a complicated thing, Draco.”

“So you seduced her.”

“You make it sound so sordid,” Daphne scolded as Hermione walked into the sitting room.

“Draco? Who are you- oh.”

“Hermione. It’s been too long,” Daphne purred. She stretched out Hermione’s name so that it curved and bent into something borderline obscene. Hermione paused next to the door.

“This is your plan? I expected something more… complicated.”

“The best plans are the simplest, Granger,” Draco said. 

“That’s not a very kind greeting,” Daphne pouted. Hermione rolled her eyes at Daphne, but she was smiling as she walked over to the couch.

“It really is good to see you, Daph,” Hermione said, and brushed a kiss against the other woman’s cheek. Daphne returned the favor.

“So, you’re here to give me some sort of makeover? To make me beautiful?”

“Stop fishing,” Daphne said, sounding insulted. “You’re already beautiful. You don’t need me to tell you that. I’m here to turn you into a bombshell for the night. We’re going to make all the women jealous and all the men want to sleep with you. And all the women, as well.”

“You do know how people dress in the muggle world, don’t you?”

“Draco! She doesn’t know?” Daphne gasped and placed her hand over her heart.

“You know she never even glances at the fashion pages, Daph. Why would she know if you haven’t told her?”

“Details, details,” Daphne said with a wave of her hand. She turned back to Hermione. “I’m selling designs in the muggle world now. Quite successfully. We’re actually growing faster than I can staff the damn company. Theo’s thrilled of course. MalTech’s making good money, and with my designs we’re almost at a place where we can buy out our marriage contract. Otherwise we’d have to wait another twelve years.”

“If you need a place to invest I hear fruit is the place to go,” Draco volunteered.

“That makes no sense, Draco,” Daphne countered, then turned her attention back to Hermione. “Nymph is the brand.”

“Oh,” Hermione’s eyes got wide and she blushed a bit. “I have heard of Nymph. Congratulations.”

“Excellent. So tonight, you are a Nymph girl.”

“Oh no,” said Hermione.

“Always the protests with her,” said Draco.

“Come on Hermione,” said Daphne. “I know you want to do this. You don’t have to protest to protect your reputation.”

“I don’t-“ Hermione started, then broke off. She did want to do this. She did want to let loose and show off that she was still young and vibrant and free. She might not have been those things in years, but she could be that now. What harm could come of this?

“I do,” Hermione said. “I do want to. Let’s do this.” 

Daphne’s face broke into a slow smile. Hermione held up one hand.

“But you don’t get to see me naked.”

Daphne waved her hand. “Fine. No quibbling. We’ll do nudity another day. For now, we’ve got a lot to do on a limited timetable. Let’s get to work.”

 

 

Draco had read in the sitting room while keeping one ear open for what was happening. Hermione and Daphne had some sort of argument, and then an agreement, and then muffled conversations that Draco could not hear. He was nursing his scotch by the time that the door open and Daphne walked out dramatically.

“Draco, darling, this is why I do my life’s work. Hermione has transformed.”

“I quite like her how she already is,” Draco protested. Daphne wagged a finger at him.

“Hermione is a gentle beauty, soft and understated. But tonight she is something more. Tonight Hermione is a- nymph!”

Hermione walked out of the bedroom with quiet, tentative steps. Draco felt his mouth go dry. Hermione bit his lip.

“You hate it,” Hermione said.

“No. No, not at all.”

Daphne had convinced Hermione into a very short, very low cut, very metallic gold dress that dipped low down her back, displaying Hermione’s slim figure. Her curls looked somehow even curlier and wilder and were pulled back into a high ponytail, and she wore enormous hoop earrings. Gold heels added at least four inches to her height. She was stunning and sexy as hell, but she also looked racked with nerves.

“It’s just so different,” Draco said, staring and feeling foolish.

“It feels very-different,” Hermione said and swallowed hard.

“Stop slouching,” Daphne snapped. “This is never going to work if you don’t own it. You’re Hermione Fucking Granger and you can get any man you want.”  


“But I only want one,” Hermione protested.

“Like I said, any man,” Daphne continued with a haughty voice. “Or woman. Doesn’t she look delicious, Draco?”

“Very,” Draco murmured, and a bit of color came into Hermione’s cheeks. 

And she did. She was beautiful in a wild and reckless way. Draco wasn’t honestly sure if he preferred this version of Hermione, but she did look stunning and she would attract plenty of attention when they went out. 

“I’m just having second thoughts about it all,” said Hermione, and she squirmed, trying to lower the hemline of her dress without exposing anymore cleavage. “Couldn’t we go with something more subtle?”

“We’ve already discussed this, Granger,” said Daphne, sounding impatient. “Subtle won’t work. We need something outrageous. And this is that. I know you’re nervous, but damn girl.Do you know how good you look? I want to keep you here for myself tonight.”

Hermione gave a nervous laugh. “Okay. Alright. I just don’t know how to do things like this.”

“There’s nothing to know,” Draco said. “It’s all confidence. You just need that.”

“I’m not certain if I could pull this off.”

“You most certainly can,” said Draco, staring at her legs. They had always been slim and well proportioned, but now they seemed to go on forever. Hermione caught his glance. Draco smirked and winked at her.

“But-“

“Hermione,” Daphne interrupted, “you freed a dragon and rode it across the country when you were eighteen. You can handle anything. Don’t pretend to be scared of a dress.”

Hermione seemed to take Daphne’s words to heart. She nodded and straightened up. “I’m Hermione Fucking Granger, and I can get whomever I want,” she said, She offered Daphne a confident smile, then sauntered over to Draco. She pulled him close and kissed him deeply. 

“Are you ready?’

Draco groaned and wrapped his arms around her waist, feeling the smooth heat of her naked back. “Do we have to go?” he asked. Visions of Hermione in that dress and those heels in their bedroom were starting to solidify in his mind.

“Yes,” Daphne said. “My work deserves to be seen by the world. And now I have to head. Draco, make sure she gets to that club.”

“We’ll be there,” Hermione said. “I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hermione's makeover is one of the most cliché scenes possible in hp fanfic, and it was a lot of fun to get to put my own spin on it. And if anyone caught that Easter Egg, yes, the fruit company Draco’s considering investing in is indeed Apple.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

The club that Imogene had suggested- and Hermione had no idea how Draco had done it, but somehow he had convinced Imogene that it was her idea to go out to the club- was in the middle of the town. Hermione and Draco apparated to a quiet alleyway, then joined the throng of people waiting to enter. It was lucky that it was a hot summer evening, or Hermione would be shivering by now, even with warming charms cast. Several men in the crowd were staring at her as she waited. Draco made sure to keep close, keeping a possessive arm around her waist. 

“Do you have any idea how many men are staring at you?” he whispered hotly into her ear.

She gave a quick smile. “Getting angry?”

“Turned on is more like it,” Draco whispered. Hermione turned to him, her glance furious.

“You boys and your competition.” 

Draco shrugged. “I appreciate being envied. I’m not that reformed, Hermione. You know this well.”

“Still-“ Hermione said, and bit her lip that had been carefully coated in lipstick by Daphne the hour before.

“None of that, or you’ll muss your makeup,” Draco scolded. “Besides, you like that. You like that the richest, baddest wizard around fell in love with you. If you had wanted someone safe and good you would have stayed with Weasley, or taken up with Longbottom.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Hermione said delicately as she stepped in closer to him, “but Ron is now considered more wild and dangerous than you.”

“Ah,” Draco sighed, “at least I’m still richer than him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but she was no longer angry.

“You do look beautiful,” Draco said, breaking into a rare moment of sincerity. “You always look beautiful. But tonight you look electric. You could pass as Aphrodite.”

“So tonight, when I’m all dolled up like a trollop is the night that I could pass as the most beautiful goddess.”

“Hera was the most beautiful goddess. And the most ferocious, which actually is quite similar to you. Aphrodite is the goddess of sex. And tonight you look like sex incarnate.”

“I feel ridiculous,” Hermione groused. “What’s the plan again?” 

“We go out dancing. You get all the attention. You introduce Imogene to some of your famous friends. Imogene gets jealous, and you get to act as though you have no idea why while proving you’re not a bookworm anymore.”

“That’s an absurd plan,” Hermione said as they approached the bouncer. Draco stuck his hand in his pocket to cast a wordless confounding charm to make up for their lack of muggle identification, and they were quickly let into the club.

“It’s brilliant in its simplicity,” Draco countered as they entered the club. 

The club was lit from below, with a dance floor made of colored lights enclosed in glass tiles. Everyone was drinking enormous cocktails and dancing to a throbbing beat. Hermione glanced around the club and saw that despite her protests, Daphne had been correct. Her gold dress reflected light, literally making her the star attraction. And although Hermione had protested that she was wearing far too little clothing, she was far from the least dressed person in the club. This made her feel more confident, and she walked forward with her head held higher and her shoulder straighter than they had been outside. 

Draco’s hand on her back steered her to the bar. 

“What will you have?” the bartender asked her as he valiantly tried to keep his eyes on Hermione’s face, not any of her exposed skin. 

Hermione felt suddenly bold. “Bartender’s choice.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Something sweet?”

Hermione shook her head. “Bitter.” The bartender nodded. He glanced at Draco.

“Sweet for me.”

The bartender took to mixing and shaking and soon had presented two drinks, both in shades of pink. “A Negroni,” he said, sliding Hermione’s drink in a tumbler to her, “and a Cosmopolitan,” he presented a drink in a martini glass to Draco.

“Cheers,” said Draco, and handed the bartender a crisply folded note as they turned away from the bar and scanned the room. Hermione took a sip of her drink and was astonished at its bitter, almost medicinal taste. Draco drank his next to her and sighed in satisfaction.

“Yours looks quite good too,” Draco said, studying her drink. “Almost like they gave us the same drink.”

“You are welcome to try,” Hermione said, and Draco took a sip, then grimaced. 

“Merlin that’s disgusting.”

“I like it quite a bit,” Hermione said, then tried a sip of Draco’s. She almost gagged at the sugary taste. 

“I like it quite a bit more than yours.”

“Your problem, Granger, is that everything has to be hard with you.”

“He’s not wrong about that,” a familiar voice behind Hermione said. Hermione turned so quickly she almost spilled her drink down her front.

“Ronald!” And soon she was swooped up into an enormous hug. 

“It’s good to see you too, Hermione,” Ron grinned. He turned to Draco and held out his hand. 

“How are you doing, mate?” 

“Satisfactory,” Draco drawled as they shook hands, but there was an affection in his voice that he could not hide. “I wasn’t sure if you would make it.”

“I’m always willing to drink on someone else’s sickle,” Ron said, and winked at Hermione. “You’re looking very- shiny.”

“Daphne’s work,” Hermione said through her blush. “Apparently we’ll be showing up my cousin.”

Ron shook his head. “I still say a good curse would do her well. Ginny would be up for it.”

“Speaking of the Weaslette, where is she tonight?” Draco asked, looking around. 

Ron shrugged. “Your nicknames are as good as ever, Drakey.”

“Pansy called me that once-“

“No, often,” Ron lazily challenged him. “I should know. Anyway, Ginny says she’ll be here,but I wouldn’t count on her drinking.”

Hermione squealed. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“Nothing,” Ron said, spreading his fingers wide and shaking his head. “Nothing. They’ve said nothing. But she’s been using training as an excuse to not drink for the last two months, even though her season ended last week.”

Draco snorted. “Of course Potter would inflict his demon spawn onto the world. Where’s Pansy?”

Ron pointed down the bar, where a petite woman with a severe black bob could be seen interrogating the bartender. “She’s been examining every aspect of their operations for the last fifteen minutes. Hasn’t even touched her drink yet. Slytherin, you know. Overly ambitious, the lot of them.” He said it with an affection that would have been impossible to imagine when they were all still in school. Ron took a deep swell of his own drink then swore.

“Why the hell is McLaggan here?”

“Draco didn’t tell you?” Hermione sighed. “Cormac-“ Hermione said his name like a curse- “is currently dating my cousin Imogene.”

“No,” Ron said, staring straight at Draco. “He left that tidbit out.”

“Would you have come if I had mentioned McLaggan?” Draco said with a great imitation of patience. Ron snorted.

“A chance to defend my best friend’s honor and stick it to McLaggan? I would have invited an audience.”

“Just don’t make too much of a scene,” Hermione pleaded as she saw Imogene and Cormac winding their way through the crowd. Imogene looked as though she had put almost as much work into her appearance as Hermione had. She wore a bright pink dress, and her curls had been straightened into one smooth sheet. 

“Hermione,” Imogene said with a sugary sweet voice. “Don’t you look different.”

“Not really,” said Hermione, and she took a deliberate sip of her drink. “You look lovely, Imogene. How long did it take you to tame your curls?” 

Imogene raised an eyebrow but let it pass. “No time at all.” Her eyes flickered over to Ron. “And who is this?”

“My best friend. Ron, this is my cousin Imogene. And you remember Cormac?”

Cormac’s eyes flicked over Ron, taking in his abundance of tattoos, leather jacket, and relaxed stance. Cormac was tall, but Ron was taller, perhaps the tallest person in the club. 

“Weasley,” Cormac nodded uneasily. “Didn’t know tonight would be the Granger’s exes get together.”

“Nah, we’d need Krum here for that,” Ron said lazily, tossing off the name as though it took him no effort. After all these years it likely didn’t.

“And Potter,” Cormac added. Draco snorted.

“I never dated Harry,” Hermione protested. 

“It’s true,” a new voice behind Hermione stated. “I’d have skinned her alive.”

Ginny and Harry had just arrived. Ginny was almost glowing in a dark blue dress, Harry looking as disheveled and confused as ever. It was an intentional trick Harry had figured out years ago. If he looked incompetent it meant people were more likely to underestimate him. Cormac stared at them both then briefly nodded. 

“Potter,” Cormac volunteered. Harry nodded.

“McLaggan.”

“Is this some sort of class reunion?” Imogene asked, visibly frustrated. 

“Just a chance get together with friends,” Ginny said casually. “Our,” she gestured to herself and Ron, “aunt lives just outside the city, and we’re heading there tomorrow. But we figured why not meet up with Hermione and Draco at the same time?”

“Are you together?” Imogene asked with a pointed politeness as she glanced from Ron to Ginny.

Ginny pointed to Harry. “Married to this one.” 

“And you?”

“Girlfriend’s down at the bar, examining everything.”

“It’s rude to leave a lady alone,” Cormac protested. “Anyone could be hitting on her.”

“I reckon she can handle herself if that becomes the case. Drinks?”

“Speaking of drinks, what are you drinking?” Imogene glanced at the pink liquid in both of their cups.

“A Negroni,” Hermione volunteered. Draco shrugged.

“I don’t know, but it’s tasty.”

“May I?” Imogene took his glass and took a sip before Draco could assent. “Mmmm. A Cosmopolitan. I do love a man who's not afraid to branch out.”

Cormac glowered and took Imogene’s elbow. “Let’s get you one of your own, then.” He pulled her off to the bar.

“How did they end up together?” Harry asked.

“Apparently Cormac models in the muggle world now,” Draco said with a scorn.

Ginny nodded. “Makes sense. He always was a bit fit.”

Ron groaned. “You can’t say that about McLaggan.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

Ron closed his eyes. “Please tell me you never fancied him.”

“He was also always too into himself to be appealing to me,” Ginny said with a shrug. “I like a man down to earth.”

“As down to earth as the chosen one can be,” Draco muttered intentionally a bit too loud. Hermione hit Draco in the ribs. Harry just rolled his eyes.

“Hermione,” he said, and wrapped her in a quick hug. Hermione smiled.

“It’s good to see you Harry,” she whispered.

“You too. I never see you anymore. You’re too busy.”

“I know. It’s just with work-“

“Come to dinner at Grimmaulde.” Harry glanced over to Draco, who was watching carefully. “The prat can come too.”

“Generous of you Potter,” Draco drawled, and his arm found Hermione’s waist again. 

“We’d love to,” said Hermione firmly, and Harry nodded and turned to get a drink- without, Hermione noted with interest, asking Ginny. 

“Shall we?” Ginny said, looking about. 

They found a table surrounded by low couches in a hidden alcove of the club. The music was less intense here. They all settled in, and Ginny and Draco chatted while she scanned the club.. Why anyone enjoyed clubs, she did not know. It wasn’t like the balls she attended for work and charity. They could be stuffy, but she got to wear beautiful clothing and sail around the room and make useful contacts for work. This seemed like a miserable place to spend a Saturday night. She wasn’t even sure if, after so long out of the muggle world, she knew how to dance at these clubs. Only the thought of what Imogene would say stopped her from announcing that she’d be retiring early. 

Imogene and Cormac came back quickly, with Cormac chatting with Harry. Harry did not look pleased by this development. When he arrived at the table he gave Ginny a drink, something tall and clear with very little fanfare.

“Do you mind if I try?” Hermione asked, and took a sip without waiting for an answer. They had been friends long enough that this was standard operating procedure. It seemed to be just tonic and lime, no hint of alcohol. Hermione was damned. Ron was right. 

“Your girlfriend still isn’t here,” Imogene purred to Ron. Out of all the men in the group she seemed to have the most interest in him. Hermione could understand. Harry, with his shambling look, would never appeal to someone as image conscious as Imogene. Draco had rebuffed every opportunity for Imogene to take interest. Ron, though, was tall and strong, tattooed and open. He was also very handsome, a fact that Hermione knew well. He was the object of fascination wherever he went, with girls eyes sliding over him more than once. Next to him Draco looked slim hipped and aristocratic, and Cormac seemed too enthralled in himself.

“Nah, she’s on her way right now,” Ron said, and waved as a pixie like girl weaved her way through the crowd. And there was Pansy- petite, slim features accentuated with a sharp black bob and dramatic eye makeup. Any one else would have looked out of place dressed in a white men’s shirt and a pair of motorcycle boots, but Hermione was convinced that Pansy would never be out of place anywhere she went. She took an open seat next to Ron and kissed him intensely.

“Any useful information?”

“With this volume of drinks they free pour instead of jigger. It makes sense, really.”

“Of course it does,” said Draco, and took a sip of his drink. Pansy ignored the dig.

“The bartenders all have to memorize how long 20 milliliters take, how long 50, and so on. It’s an efficient system. A bit inconsistent, and not something you’d want at a high end bar, but for a place like here it makes perfect sense.” She glanced around the club with interest in her eyes. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Cormac said with interest in his eyes as well as he glanced up and down Pansy. Tonight was not going well for Imogene and Cormac and Hermione stamped down a brief thrill of guilt. “I’m Cormac McLaggan. You may have seen my face splattered about that Marks and Spenser campaign.”

“I know you,” Pansy said with a pureblood’s dismissal. “You replaced Weasley for that one disastrous game.”

“It’s not my fault Slopper couldn’t hit,” Cormac flared. It seemed the topic was still raw.

“Of course not. Pansy Parkinson.”

Recognition hit Cormac. “Didn’t you date Malfoy?”

“Exes with exes, it’s all very incestuous,” Draco drawled. “Although Pansy and I were never serious.”

“I spent too many po- physics classes writing _Pansy Malfoy_ for that to be true,” Pansy shot back. “But we did break up before school ended. We didn’t have an adult relationship the way those two did,” she gestured to Ron and Hermione.

“You dated him?” Imogene demanded, pointing to Ron. Disbelief colored her tone.

“Two years,” Ron said.

“A year and a half,” Hermione corrected. 

“How many of those-“ Imogene gestured to Ron’s tattoos- “did you have then?”

“Well, the first one we got together. And I’ve just been collecting them ever since.”

“Draco has a tattoo and he won’t share,” Imogene said in a pouty voice.

“It’s a bloody awful one,” Harry said, breaking the silence. “The worst I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you Potter,” Draco said, and silence descended on their group. 

Until Pansy turned to Cormac.

“So you’re dating Granger’s cousin. How did that come about?”

“You’re dating Weasley,” Cormac sneered. “You tell me first.”

“We met at a bar and went home together.”

“Hey,” Ron protested. “We talked, and then went home together.”

“Fine. We talked, went home, then found we actually liked each other. Your turn.”

“We met at a photo shoot,” Imogene leaned forward and began to gush. “He had complained that none of the other models were attractive enough, so they brought me in.”

“But I was well satisfied with Imogene. So we went out. Our first date was at Piedmont- have you been there?” Cormac asked with the air of a man who knew the answer would be no.

He was incorrect. “What did you think?”

“Food was brilliant.”

“What did you order?”

“Oh,” Imogene bit her lip. “I just got the fish. Too many calories in a plate of pasta, you know.”

”What fish?”

“I don’t know,” Imogene said, “monkfish maybe? It was divine.”

“Does it matter?” Cormac asked impatiently, turning to Pansy. 

“It does to her,” Ron said, letting his long limbs sprawl out. “Because she might have cooked your dinner.”

“You work?” Cormac asked. Pansy narrowed her eyes at his tone. He furiously backtracked. “Not that that’s bad. I just thought your family was rich.”

Imogene closed her eyes with Cormac’s comment. Pansy studied him for one long moment, then allowed the moment to pass. 

“Mum isn’t too pleased with life choices,” said Pansy. “So I had to find some way of making a living.”

Cormac muttered something under his breath, something that sounded like _your mum and I agree._ Imogene seemed to hear, and elbowed him hard. But they were saved from Ron’s increasing annoyance at Cormac by the arrival of two women.

“Pans, darling, you should know that you wear heels to a club, not workboots.”

Pansy grimaced. “I’d rather not kill my feet for vanity’s sake, Daph. Everyone, my old roommate Daphne Greengrass-Nott.”

Imogene’s eyes grew wide. “I love your designs, Ms. Nott. They’re brilliant.”

“Thank you. And you are?”

“Imogene Campbell. And this is my boyfriend, Cormac McLaggan. We’re in the fashion industry as well. We’re models.”

“Ah, so you are.” Daphne’s eyes lingered on Imogene and swept her from head to toe. “And this is my friend, Cho.”

“Hello,” said Cho as she looked around. She shot a quick wink to Harry. He blushed. Ginny looked furious.

“Have we all gathered in a club to talk about our feelings?” said Daphne, looking aghast. “I think it’s time for some shots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're inching closer to the climax, and there are only a few more chapters after that. Thank you for sticking with this story.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

There was a reason, Hermione thought, that she usually avoided clubbing, especially with Draco’s friends. 

This thought occured to her somewhere around the fourth brightly colored shot that Daphne had pushed towards her. 

She was Hermione Granger. She was stable. She sipped wine with dinner. She would have a pint after work once in a while. And it was a very special occasion that she agreed to a dram of firewhiskey. So why on earth was she drinking so much?

“Come on Granger,” Daphne let the word dangle, “live a little.”

Imogene giggled. She and Cormac were doing just fine now. There was no hint of tension between the two of them. His hands were roving all over her, and her head was lolling back.

“Babe,” she moaned, “not in public.”

“Nothing that happens in a club is public,” he said and smirked, then stuck his tongue down his throat. 

Did everyone look so disgusting when they kissed? Hermione scowled and snatched up the shot. This one was electric green. 

“What makes it this color?” Her voice sounded strange to her, less articulate, less bright. 

Draco groaned. “Even when you’re drunk you’re a swot.”

“Am not,” Hermione said, and took it in one swoop. It wasn’t as bad as the first ones had been.

“It’s alright,” said Draco, slowly moving in towards her. “It’s hot. Makes me want to play professor and student. The hot swot would do anything to get her grade up.”

It was so absurd sounding that Hermione giggled. “The hot swot.”

“Very hot,” Draco agreed, and kissed her. This was still easy while drunk, at least, the way their bodies moved together. “Very swot.” He grabbed her backside through her dress.

“Draco,” she hissed.

“It’s fine Hermione,” Draco said. “No one’s paying attention.”

Hermione scanned. Imogene and Cormac were laughing together, alone. Harry and Ginny had disappeared around when the shots were broken out, and likely wouldn’t return. Daphne had dragged Cho onto the dance floor. Only Ron and Pansy were still sitting together, shots in front of them still untouched, Pansy’s head resting on Ron’s shoulder. They were talking together, looking deeply content.

Hermione nudged Draco. “Would you have ever thought that they would be together?”

Draco snorted. “No. No way. Never.”

“And yet here they are.”

“And here we are.” Draco’s hand was resting on the small of Hermione’s back, tracing circular patterns on her bare skin. 

“It’s just unbelievable.”

“It’s spectacular, is what it is,” Draco said. 

“I wonder if they’ll stay together.”

“They’ll probably show up one night and announce they got married weeks ago,” Draco said. Hermione looked up at him.

“Never. Ron would never deprive his mum of a party.”

“We could do that instead, then.”

Hermione broke away from Draco.

“What?” Maybe it was the drinks, maybe the club, but she suddenly felt dizzy. Draco looked nervous.

“I’m not asking you to marry me. Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t.” The words felt rote in her mouth.

“It’s just- you’re it for me, Granger. And if it means so much to you to follow that bloody timetable, then I’ll do it. But are you honestly going to tell me that you don’t feel it too?”

“Draco-“

Imogene stumbled over. “Mione, you have to dance. Cormac says that he can’t and I need someone to dance with.”

“Oh. But I can’t leave Draco.” She looked wildly at him, begging for him to save her.

Draco, that infuriating man, refused to. “I'll hold your drink, Granger. Go have fun with your cousin.”

“Thanks, Draco. You’re a peach,” Imogene preened, and dragged Hermione onto the dance floor. Hermione sent Draco a death glare. He saluted with her drink in response. 

The dance floor was crowded. Imogene immediately began to sway her hips and toss her hair. Hermione started to sway back and forth, looking around at the people gathered.

There were fewer couples than she would have expected. There were more groups of people, dancing together, around each other. Suddenly Imogene grabbed Hermione’s hands and began to swing them back and forth in an exaggerated manner. Hermione could feel the rest of her body moving with her hands.

It was like something broke inside her. And suddenly she was shaking her hair loose and swaying her hips side to side and waving her hands high in the air. It was something close to freedom. She could feel the music echoing through her body, the bass almost echoing the pounding of her heart. She lost herself in the music. It had been so long since that had happened. It was some time before responsibility, before the war, before Voldemort, maybe even before she knew about magic, back when the only magic was her body moving to her favorite songs and being transported by stories. On the dance floor she wasn’t a war hero or a survivor or a public figure or a muggleborn. She was only a girl moving with the music. 

The song ended and Hermione stilled. Imogene was looking at her.

“I- I should go.”

Imogene pulled her closer. “Why are you so worried?” she said, close but still loud as the next song began. “Just let it go and dance. No one cares about what you’re doing.”

“I-“ But Imogene was already pulling her towards the center of the dance floor, where Daphne and Cho were moving together. Daphne waved her over and immediately started bumping her hips against Hermione’s, forcing hers to move. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to get back to that magical spot she had been in before, where she could feel the music in her body. 

Soon Draco, Ron and Pansy joined them on the dance floor. Draco and Pansy began dancing together in an elegant foxtrot. They moved easily together, with some dancers turning and watching them. Hermione leaned over towards Ron.

“Should we pretend to be jealous?”

Ron laughed. “Pansy said that they took lessons from the same tutor as a kid. Shall we?” He held out his hand, and she took it, warm and comfortable. They then began to imitate Draco and Pansy’s dance as exaggeratedly as possible, their movements bigger and wilder and, it must be admitted, worse. 

“That’s not how you do it,” a voice bellowed. Cormac had arrived. He took Imogene’s hand and began to lead her through some elaborate salsa steps. The beat still droned, not the ideal music for any of this dancing, but it was still a sight to behold. Cormac wasn’t bad, but Imogene was excellent, dramatic and beautiful the way salsa demanded. When Cormac dipped her and she arched her back low a scattering of applause broke out. 

And then there was spontaneous couples dancing all around the club, most of them untrained but all enthusiastic. There were twirls and leaps and dips and laughter as people got entangled in each other and as the same song droned on. Eventually the song changed, and more and more people returned to the formless club dancing that they had been doing before. Draco came up behind her and rested his hands on her hips.   


“I love you,” he whispered, his mouth hot against her bare neck.

“Thank you,” she murmured in response, and from the way that Draco swallowed she was sure he had heard her. Imogene caught her eye as she danced with Cormac and nodded. Hermione felt herself giving Imogene a smile, the first genuine one she had given her in years. 

 

Hermione did not know how long they lingered in the club, dancing and drinking. All she knew was that the dance floor was emptying out by the time that they left, and Hermione was stumbling in her high heels, despite the anti-trip charm that Daphne had affixed earlier that evening. Harry and Ginny had not returned. Ron had one arm draped over Pansy’s shoulder loosely, who was swaddled in Ron’s heavy leather jacket. Daphne and Cho left quickly, probably to make their way back to Nott Manner alone. Imogene was pulling Cormac forward and giggling. He stopped and kissed her so heavily that it made Hermione grateful. Maybe they would be happy together. Maybe neither of them were as wretched as she had thought.

Imogene stopped and ducked into an alley to light a cigarette. It dangled from her mouth, the embers illuminating her face, making her look shadowed and secretive.

“D’you have another?” Ron asked, and Imogene produced a second and lit it for Ron. The two of them stood casually together, chatting while they smoked. Hermione moved away. She had always hated the smell of cigarettes. When she and Ron used to date his habit of socially smoking after a few drinks always made her angry. It was much easier to handle now that she knew she would not be expected to kiss him afterward. 

“You know,” Cormac said quietly behind her, “when I used to think of Weasley getting along with my girlfriend I had a different girlfriend in mind.”

“Don’t ruin this evening, McLaggan,” Hermione said, her voice suddenly exhausted.

“Hey, hey,” Cormac said, holding up empty hands, “no need to get offended. Just an observation. Life changes and all.”

Hermione’s eyes drifted over to Draco, who was talking with Pansy. Their body language was close, and they were smiling at each other. If she had known them less well she might have thought they were dating. But Draco caught her glance and he shot her a brilliant smile, the kind that still pierced her heart. Once upon a time she could never have thought of him smiling at her like that. But once upon a time she never would have thought of any possibility of her dating Draco, of becoming friends with Pansy, of having even the possibility of a relationship with Imogene. But here they were, in a life that she could have never imagined. 

“And all,” Hermione agreed. Imogene and Ron had finished smoking. Imogene was sauntering over towards Cormac.

“Shall we find a cab? I can’t walk back in these shoes,” Imogene said with a flirtatious giggle. 

Cormac slowly rolled his spine up and swayed slightly from side to side and glanced around the alley where they had stopped. “Babe, we don’t need a cab.” And Hermione saw, almost as if in slow motion, Cormac reach for Imogene’s arm, then turn on his heel. And they disappeared with a crack like violence.

The alley was silent. The remaining four glanced at each other, then around the alley. It was abandoned. Empty. There was no one to be seen.

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four more chapters before this piece concludes! I'll try to have it all up by Halloween, but if you're impatient to read what's next you can always head over FF.net, where this piece is completed.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 

“Fuck.” Hermione broke the silence first as they looked around at the empty alley. Ron ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back.

“Looks like I’m on duty tonight after all,” he sighed. “I assume they went back to your hotel?”

“We’ll guide you,” Draco said, his voice mechanical. Ron took Hermione’s arm, Pansy took Draco’s, and the four of them disappeared together.

They arrived at the suite, and Ron immediately began to pace.

“Where would they be?” he asked, and the door opened. 

“Oh,” Hélène said. She and Richard were carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Hello. We weren’t expecting guests.”

Ron strode over to shake hands.

“Dr. Granger, Dr. Granger. It’s good to see you. We just ran into each other tonight, and thought we’d grab a drink.”

“Certainly,” Hélène said. She studied Hermione’s too-short dress for just a moment while Hermione tried not to shrink away, then smiled at the group. “Well, I hope you don’t mind but we’re heading to the garden.”

“Not at all,” Pansy said, and gave a dazzling smile. She was an uncannily good actress when she needed to be. “We’re just heading out. Enjoy your drink.”

“Of course,” Richard said, and nudged Hélène out into the garden. 

Ron turned to Hermione. “Where is Cormac staying?”

Draco was able to use the front desk attendant’s interest in him for good, and charmed Imogene’s hotel room out of her. He, in turn, slipped her his cell phone number on a piece of paper which had a time delay vanishing charm on it. By the time the attendant’s shift would be over the paper would mysteriously disappear from her pocket. 

Hermione knocked at the door, and after a moment Imogene answered.

“Hermione.” She looked flustered, and a bit panicked. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“The same way you did, Imogene.” Hermione tried to be calm and kind, but Imogene’s eyes widened with fear. “We need to see Cormac.”

“He’s-uh-“ Imogene’s eyes widened as Ron withdrew his wand and cast _Homenum Revelio_. Two pulsing balls of light appeared. 

“He’s there,” Ron said grimly. “Let us in or we’ll force our way in.”

“You can’t do that,” Imogene squawked, and tried to shut the door. Ron stopped it with a wave of his wand, and the door slid open smoothly. 

“Help her,” Ron instructed Hermione, and she wrapped her arms around the now shaking Imogene, who feebly tried to fight her off. Hermione helped guide her into a chair. 

The room was smaller than Hermione’s but just as elegant. Hermione did not have much time to appreciate the surroundings, as Cormac was drunkenly swaying in the middle of the room.

“Weasley. Granger. Why do you have to interfere with everything? We were just having a conversation.” Cormac slurred the last word, stretching it into five syllables. Ron ignored Cormac’s question, casting an anti-disapparation jinx that bound Cormac tightly. Cormac began sputtering in protest. Ron turned to Draco.

“Do you have any sobriety potion on you?” His voice was exhausted. Draco nodded and fished a small flask out of his pocket and handed it to Ron.

“This is a pretty small dose,” Ron said, holding it up to the light.

“It’s a prototype,” Draco answered. “Super concentrated. One tablespoon is enough to sober any adult.”

“Clever,” said Ron. “No side effects?”

Draco shrugged. “St. Mungalo’s hasn’t found any yet.”

“Ah, well, more’s the pity,” Ron said, and uncapped the potion. With a wave of his wand he directed a bead of the potion to Cormac’s closed mouth. The potion slipped between his closed lips despite Cormac’s fight. Imogene was watching the proceedings with fear. 

Suddenly Cormac’s posture became straighter and his motions more purposeful. 

“What are you doing?” he said, struggling against the jinx. “You have no authority to hold me. Release me, Weasel!”

“Actually I do,” Ron said. “It’s Auror Weasley now, McLaggan. And I have some very serious questions for you about breaking the International Statute of Secrecy.”

Cormac paled. “What are you talking about?”

Ron pulled out a notepad from his jacket and a quill. The notepad flipped open and floated in the air, and the quill began to write, taking notes as Ron began to speak.

“At 1:28 this morning, you, Cormac McLaggan did reveal the existence of magic by transporting a muggle, one Imogene- is it Granger?” He said, directing the question at Imogene. She looked startled, then mutely shook her head.

“Campbell,” Hermione volunteered. 

“One Imogene Campbell via slide-along apparition. That is a violation of section 52 of the International Statute of Secrecy, and is punishable by three years in Azkaban and the removal of the memories of the said muggle.”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Cormac bellowed. “You can’t treat her like that. And let me go.”

“If I release you from these bonds do you swear not to flee or attack?” Ron’s voice was bored, almost rote at this point. 

“Yes. Yes Just let me go, Weasley.” At Ron’s raised eyebrow Cormac quickly corrected himself. “Auror Weasley.”

Ron waved his wand twice. Hermione felt the chip of an anti-apparition charm being placed on the room, and then Cormac’s bindings fell away. Ron gestured to the sofa in the middle of the room. Cormac slowly sank down into the sofa, and Ron took an armchair across from him. Imogene gave a small sob. 

Pansy heard the sob. She bustled over to a small kitchenette in the corner of their room, then busied herself with making tea. Cormac was glancing back and forth between everyone assembled looking in fear and disbelief. 

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Ron said, breaking the silence. “I will be interrogating you, and deciding if this breach is serious enough to warrant an arrest. I must warn you that if I suspect that you are being dishonest I will arrest you and question you under Verituserum. Now, is your name Cormac McLaggan?”

“Yes.”

“You attended Hogwarts. When did you attend and what house were you sorted into?”

“1990 to 1997. I was a Gryffindor. You already know this. You stole my keeper position from me.”

Ron ignored the barbed accusation. “Thank you for that confirmation. Where do you live now?”

“London. I make my living as a muggle model.”

“Sounds delightful.” Ron’s sarcasm was cutting. “Now, your relationship with the muggle in question?”

As Ron continued questioning McLaggan Pansy emerged from the kitchenette with steaming mugs of tea. She passed one to Hermione, and held one out for Imogene. “How do you take your tea?”

Imogene looked up at Pansy with fear, but there was something in the matter of fact way that she was offering her tea that seemed to remove that fear. “Just- just black, thank you.”

“And Cormac?”

“White with two sugars.” The answer was so quick that Hermione began to wonder if Imogene was much more serious about Cormac than Hermione had suspected. 

Pansy offered Ron and Cormac tea next. Ron took it absentmindedly, with a “thanks, Pans”, but Cormac recoiled.

Ron shot Cormac a smile, the first he had offered him.

“She’s much too proud of her cooking to slip you something. Bad for business, you know.”

“How do I know you won’t?” Cormac demanded. Ron sighed and took a sip of his own tea.

“Because I would get fired for such underhanded tactics, and frankly you aren’t worth my job. Shall we continue?”

The tea seemed to fortify Imogene, who shook Hermione’s hand off her shoulder and was leaning forward, watching and listening with furrows between her brows. 

“And now, the muggle in question-“

“My name is Imogene.”  


Ron turned to look at Imogene, the first time he had since entering the room. “Right. Very sorry.” He turned back to Cormac. “Now, with Imogene being a muggle-“

“What’s a muggle?”

Ron cast a wild glance at Hermione. Before she could answer Cormac spoke.

“It’s someone without magic.”

“Magic,” said Imogene and her voice was getting louder, more firm. Hermione could not reach her wand without reaching past Imogene. She sincerely hoped that Ron had thought to cast a _Muffliato_.

“Like how we disappeared in one place and arrived back here. Magic. Magic is real. What is going on?” Imogene gave a wild laugh. “Oh don’t worry, everything’s alright, my boyfriend just has magic.”

“I’m sorry Imogene, babe,” Cormac pleaded. “I wanted to tell you. I just couldn’t.”

“I invited you to meet my family and you were keeping secrets from me!”

“I had to!” Cormac bellowed back. “It’s the law.” 

From the kitchen Hermione saw Pansy wave her wand and mutter under her breath. She caught Hermione’s eye and nodded. Hermione gave a nod of thanks back.

“The law? What law? The magic law?” Imogene was getting hysterical.

“Yes,” said Ron. “The magic law. I’m Auror Ron Weasley from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. By apparating with you Cormac broke the International Statute of Secrecy. And now we’re trying to assess how serious of a breach this is.”

Imogene turned faintly to Ron. “I thought you were Hermione’s friend.”

Ron softened just a bit. “I am that too. Her best friend.”

Imogene turned to Hermione. “So you- you’re like them.”

Hermione nodded gently. 

“And you never told me.”

Hermione shook her head. Imogene faintly echoed Hermione’s motion.

“I can’t trust you. I can’t trust any of you.”

“I’m sorry Imogene,” Hermione said, and at that moment she was truly sorry. She remembered how exciting it was to learn about the Wizarding world, and to learn that she had a part in it. She couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would be to learn about it and to be told that this secret, this terrible secret, could never be for you. 

“Right,” Imogene said, and pushed herself out of the chair. “I’m going to bed. Clearly I have nothing to do with this and we-“ she stared pointedly at Cormac- “are going to have much to discuss tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” Ron said in a very official voice, “but I can’t allow you to leave.”

“This is my hotel. You’re intruding.” Imogene’s voice was almost as official as Ron’s was, and Hermione had to admit it was impressive. “And you have no authority to order me to do anything.”

Ron removed his wand. “I cannot and will not allow you to leave. Now, please resume your seat.”

“Going to arrest me?” Imogene asked with narrowing eyes.

“I don’t wish to, but I will if necessary. Now.” Ron waited until Imogene slowly sank back into her chair, loathing present in every motion, and turned back to Cormac.

“Your relationship with Imogene?”

“My girlfriend.”

“Of how long?”

“Six months.” Imogene was the one to answer that question in a still voice. Cormac nodded.

“Six months.”

“And how serious is your relationship?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“I need specificity, McLaggan,” Ron said, rubbing his temples.

“I like her. I like her a lot. And maybe there’s a future? I don’t know. I never meant to tell her. I was just drunk and excited and- not thinking.”

Ron closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Section 52 specifies that muggle who may be told about our world include parents and parent figures, siblings, spouses, and other similar partners. Imogene does not fit any of those parameters.”

“What is going to happen to Cormac?” Imogene asked, her voice small. Ron turned to her and regarded her kindly.

“He will have to stand a trial. With this infraction, a substantial fine is likely, jail time possible. With his record he has a good chance of cutting a deal.”

“I don’t care about what happens to me,” Cormac said. “What about Imogene?”

Ron’s glance was pitying. “Section 52 is clear. She is not cleared for this knowledge, so it will have to be removed.”

“That’s barbaric!” Cormac shouted. “It’s like raping someone’s mind.” Imogene paled. Ron shook his head. 

“There’s no ambiguity in this law. Not under-“ he paused, and glanced at Hermione.

“Not under section 52. But section 53 has another criteria for who can know,” Ron said, and he stood pacing. “The existence of our world can be revealed to muggle for who a knowledge of our world is necessary.”

“Then it will be necessary,” Cormac said. “Malfoy- you could hire her for your company!”

Draco shook his head. “My company only works in the muggle world right now, Cormac. I haven’t been able to gather the hundreds of permits that allows both yet.”

“Draco doesn’t have the proper security clearance to make that choice,” Ron said. “Neither do you. Nor do I.” Ron’s glance fell on Hermione and he quirked an apologetic smile. A thrill of understanding ran through her.

“But I do,” Hermione said. Ron nodded.

“We’ll need the paperwork in within 72 hours,” Ron said. “So we need a reason.”

“Daphne,” Hermione said immediately. “She needs a liaison. Imogene would be perfect.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Imogene said, her voice small and fearful.

“Nothing,” Ron said. “You’re safe from us as long as Hermione gets the paperwork in on time- and Hermione has never been late on that before.” Ron yawned and stretched, and the serious expression from his face was wiped.

“Well, this has been fun,” Pansy said, “but we’ve got to head home. Nearest apparition point?”

“Use our room,” Draco volunteered. “There will be privacy there.”

Pansy nodded. “Drakey, Granger, good to see you. McLaggan, Imogene- I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you.”

They left the room quickly and then the room was quiet.

“I’m sorry for this,” Cormac said suddenly and twisted his fingers between Imogene’s. She let them lay there. “This isn’t how I wanted you to figure out.”

“No,” Imogene said. She seemed to be looking at something far out of reach. 

“Imogene,” Hermione said, and Imogene turned to Hermione with unfocused eyes. “We’ll leave you soon. But you cannot tell anyone about this. If you do- Imogene, if you do they’ll remove your memories and it will be awful.”

“How?” 

“Don't worry about that right now,” Hermione said firmly. “I will answer any questions you have tomorrow after you’ve had some sleep. Any at all. But for now I need your word that you will not tell anyone.”

Imogene gave half a smile. “Who would believe me?”

“Thank you Imogene.” She stood to leave. Draco strode forward and took a vile out of his pocket.

“This is a dreamless sleep potion,” he said, and placed it on the table before Imogene. She picked it up and studied it. “It makes sure you get a full, restful nights sleep tonight without any of the side effects that sleeping pills give you. I’ll leave it for you here if you want it.”

“Thank you Draco,” Imogene said, and gave a gentle smile to him. Draco nodded, took Hermione’s arm, and left just as the clocks were striking three. 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

Hermione barely slept that night. She laid down and must have dozed off, but she could only remember tossing and turning until it was seven. Draco had somehow slept better than she, and was snoring when she slipped out of bed and dressed for breakfast.

The hotel had an elegant cafe where breakfast was served, and as Hermione entered the cafe she saw Miranda sitting with Nicholas and her aunt Charlotte. Miranda happily waved Hermione over.

“Good morning!” Miranda was bright and chipper. “I’m a bit surprised to see you up this early after last night.” It took Hermione a moment before she realized that Miranda meant that they had been at a club, rather than what happened after.

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said as a starched waiter came by with coffee. Hermione took a deep sip, letting the rich bitterness brace her before she continued the conversation. “It was a rather late night, but I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“I’m glad you went out with Imogene,” Nicholas said, leaning forward. He looked disheveled, like he wasn’t really a morning person, compared to Miranda who's hair was neatly set. “We’re,” he gestured to himself and Miranda, “are not really club people, and I know Imogene was dying to dance.”

Aunt Charlotte sniffed. She looked like her daughters, but her curls were held back in tight pins and she had deep frown lines around her face.

“Imogene needs to settle down and become more serious,” Aunt Charlotte said. “I would have thought that you were more willing to set a good example.” She looked at Hermione as if Hermione had personally disappointed her. 

“With all due respect, Aunt Charlotte,” Hermione began, “Imogene is twenty-one. She doesn’t need any good examples, and going to a club doesn’t make one unserious.”

Aunt Charlotte stared at Hermione, unconvinced. Behind her Miranda was elaborately rolling her eyes for Hermione’s benefit. The waiter returned to the table and Hermione requested a breakfast of sausage, grilled tomatoes, and a croissant.

“That’s quite a bit of fat in your breakfast,” Aunt Charlotte said. Hermione gave her sweetest smile.

“Yes, indeed. It’s enough fats to absorb the nutrients present in the food. Your body can’t metabolize vitamins and minerals correctly without fat.” She pointedly raised her eyebrows at Aunt Charlotte, who had no response. Aunt Charlotte instead icily sipped her tea. 

“Hermione, Miranda was telling me that you and Draco went to the baths yesterday,” Nicholas broke the silence. “Would you recommend a visit?”

“If you’re interested in history I think it’s a must-see.” Hermione truly liked Nicholas. He seemed to have an instinct on how to calm hostile situations. “It’s fascinating.”

“Then it’s settled,” Nicholas pronounced and smiled at Miranda. “We’ll have to head there today.”

“We have the goodbye luncheon with your grandparents today,” Aunt Charlotte warned. “It wouldn’t do to miss it.”

“No, no,” Nicholas agreed. “We’ll head away after.”

“Miranda, I thought you were returning with us.” Aunt Charlotte said.

“I never agreed to that Mum,” Miranda said, her voice quiet. “When you asked I told you that I would be going back to our flat.” Aunt Charlotte looked wildly around then turned to Hermione.

“I’m very sorry,” Aunt Charlotte said. “Miranda seems to be forgetting that it’s not appropriate to share family arguments in public.”

“Mum, this isn’t an argument,” Miranda said. Miranda was so calm and collected that Hermione could not even imagine her in an argument. “We’ve moved in together. If you don’t care for my choice then you don’t have to come visit.”

“It’s unseemly to live with a man before you are married. I’m certain Hermione agrees.” Aunt Charlotte turned to Hermione. “You would never let a man live with you before a wedding, wouldn’t you?”

Hermione thought back to all the tense conversation she and Draco had together. She remembered him calling her rigid as she told him about her timetable. No engagement before three years together, no living together before an engagement. She thought about Ginny rolling her eyes at Hermione’s rules, and her mum’s gentle reminders that her Aunt Françoise and Uncle Luc were still not married after over twenty years together, and there was nothing wrong with that. She thought about Draco apparating away to his cold, sparsely furnished apartment every morning for a change of clothes. She thought about how she would justify it to herself- it was fine if they were almost living together as long as they weren’t, because they still needed more time.

“Actually,” Hermione heard herself saying before she had caught up with her thoughts, “Draco will be moving in with me in a few weeks.”

Behind her mother Miranda had a triumphant smile. The waiter arrived again with Hermione’s breakfast. Another waiter darted around the table, refilling their coffee cups. 

“And how does your mother feel about this?”Aunt Charlotte demanded as Hermione bit into a piece of sausage. It was rich and fatty and was perfect after last night. Hermione suppressed a moan. 

“She adores Draco.”

“Yes, yes, a mother can love her children but she can still be concerned about them. Your mum must have warned you about what people will say.”

“I find worrying what people will say to be a waste of time.” Not that it ever stopped her, but still. It was something worth working towards. “Besides, my mum is thrilled that Draco and I will be living together.”

Aunt Charlotte sniffed. Hermione took another, more generous bite of her sausage. “And your father? He’s much less-“

“French?”

“Radical,” Aunt Charlotte settled on, “than your mother.”

“My father is happy that I am happy, Aunt Charlotte,” Hermione said, and something about her quiet tone made Aunt Charlotte drop the topic. Aunt Charlotte quickly finished her coffee, and left soon after.

“Thanks for that,” Miranda said. “She’s been a fright about this recently. She’s unhappy about Imogene’s modeling career, and ever since she’s been regressing in her views on everything.”

“She’ll come about,” Nicholas said, and began rubbing Miranda’s back. “So. You and Draco are moving in together?”

Hermione let out a sigh. “I suppose so. I just have to tell Draco.” Miranda’s eyes grew wide.

“You didn’t!”

“I did,” Hermione confessed, and felt a smile stretch across her face. Nicholas held up his coffee cup.

“To lies that become the truth.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Hermione said, and the three of them touched their glasses together. 

Hermione made her exit quickly after that. It was after eight now and she was hoping to catch Imogene.

She knocked on the door, and wasn’t surprised to see Imogene answer right away.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Imogene said. Her hair was a mess and she still was in pajamas.

“I’m sorry, Imogene. Can I come in?”

“If I say no,” Imogene said, her face twisting, “I have a feeling you’d make your way here anyway.”

“If you say no I’ll respect your wishes,” Hermione said softly. “But we do need to talk sometime today.”

Imogene opened the door wide and stepped aside. Hermione walked into Imogene’s room. “Thank you.”

Imogene said nothing, just let Hermione settle on the couch and then closed the door. She sat opposite of Hermione, crossed her legs, and stared.

“Where’s Cormac?” Hermione finally said.

“He’s somewhere. Disappeared straight from the hotel room. He had the decency to do it in the bathroom- said he didn’t want to startle me again. He should be back before lunch.”

“Did you two talk much?”

Imogene’s face twisted into something close to a smirk. “What do you think?”

“I’m sure you have questions.”

“A few.”

“I’ll answer any of them you want.”

There was a long pause. “Fine.” Imogene leaned forward. “Why you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you so special that you get to have magic? How was being the smart girl not enough? Who decided that you weren't already special enough?” Imogene’s voice was cold and calm, like Miranda’s but without her warmth.

Hermione took a deep breath. This was going to be more unpleasant than she had anticipated. 

“No one’s sure,” Hermione admitted. “Most people who have magic- we call ourselves wizards and witches- come from a magical family. Draco does. Cormac does. Ron, who you met yesterday, does. But not everyone. I’m what’s called muggle-born. My parents are muggles- they don’t have magic. But I’m a witch. It happens, and no one’s sure why. And sometimes people in magic families are born without magic. They’re called squibs. The most current theory is that there’s a genetic mutation. When two muggles with this recessive gene have a child, the child can be born magical. But it’s complicated. My friend Harry’s mum was a witch. Her sister wasn’t. They were torn apart after they found out.”

“Like sickle cell,” Imogene murmured. 

“Exactly like sickle cell,” Hermione agreed.

“And so your world just tore them apart when Harry’s mum realized she was a witch?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. His aunt was consumed with jealousy, and cut her sister out of her life. They weren’t speaking when Harry was born.”

“So it’s just genetic luck that you’re different?”

Hermione shrugged. “Genetic luck, sure, maybe. There are some pretty horrific things that I’ve seen because of being a witch.”

“Like what?” Imogene asked, her voice sharp. “Like suddenly disappearing and people with sticks coming to threaten you?”

Hermione closed her eyes and counted to ten. It was not Imogene’s fault. She had no idea.

“Like a race of creatures magically bound into slavery, passed from parent to child for generations.” Hermione’s voice was flat, but once she had started speaking it seemed she couldn’t stop. “Or evil wizards that can enchant dead bodies to attack people. Like cursed fire that never stops burning, or a spell that makes you be in such pain you feel as though your bones are breaking and your lungs are crushing and you’d rather die than endure one more second.” Hermione began rolling up the sleeve of her sweater. The glamour that Daphne had attached last night had faded. Imogene’s eyes grew wide at Hermione’s scar.

“Or like a crazed, powerful witch who uses that spell on you to get information from you, then carves a slur into your arm with a cursed blade so it will never go away, and you can never forget her, even after she’s been dead for years. So that you can still have nightmares about her sometimes, even after you beat her. So that when you saw her die all you could feel was emptiness, and you hated her in that moment more than when she was torturing you, because she had stolen some innocence and goodness from you.”

Imogene was silent for a long time. 

“What does mudblood mean?” Imogene asked after a long silence where her face had gone through an extraordinary transformation of fear to anger to sympathy to blankness. 

“Dirty blood. It’s an insult to muggle-borns like me.”

“Why?”

“Do you really want to know? Things like these- they’re one of the reasons that wizards and witches went into hiding.” Imogene nodded. Hermione took a deep breath. “Alright.”

And Hermione told her. She explained about the International Stature of Secrecy, and about how wixen went into hiding after witch burnings and trials. She told her about Grindelwald and the deathly hallows, and their ties to Nazi Germany. She explained about Voldemort, and about the war, and horocruxes and the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix. And she told about her history- her part, and Harry’s and Ron’s, but also Cormac’s and (with great hesitation) Draco’s. 

“Why?” Imogene asked at the end. “Why did you want to stay and fight for this place that didn’t want you?”

Hermione began to gently rub her scar. “It was never everyone who wanted me gone. And it was my world too. I wasn’t going to give up on it.”

“But you could have.”

“I could have, but I couldn’t.” Hermione said, and something about how Hermione said that made Imogene understand. She nodded.

“That’s why we’re not allowed to share.” Hermione said. “It’s terrifying.” She hesitated, then decided that Imogene needed to know this.

“My parents still don’t know everything. The year I was fighting- they were memory charmed in Australia. They know it was bad. They know about the nightmares. But they don’t know everything.”

“Because they can’t.”

“They are my parents. We are allowed to share with parents and partners. But I couldn’t tell them.”

Imogene nodded. “I wish Cormac had told me. I wish you hadn’t had to.”

“Me too,” Hermione said. The two of them sat in silence.

“So what now?”

“There are a few choices moving forward. You could agree to marry Cormac, which would protect your knowledge. We could pull some strings to get you a job that would necessitate knowledge of both the muggle and magical world, which would also protect your knowledge. Or-“ Hermione hesitated.

“Or you will have to remove my memories like you did for your parents.” Imogene said bluntly.

Hermione sighed. “Yes.”

“But what for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“We can’t go back. So what now? Are we still enemies?”

“Are you going to still tease me for being plain and boring?” Hermione asked in a deadpan voice. Imogene looked at her in astonishment.

“Are you forgetting something?”

“What do you mean?”

“You would always tease me for being stupid. You told my mum that you were worried for my future when I was six because I spoke with a stutter.”

“I was worried!” Hermione protested. The memory came back- she had not thought about it in years. Imogene was pretty even as a kid- her own mother used to coo over how precious she was. And she would follow Hermione around. But she couldn’t pronounce her r’s, and would call her Mione. 

“And you would make fun of me for not reading.”

“You never wanted to read books with me!”  


“I couldn’t!” Imogene burst out. “I couldn’t read until I was seven. And you were always so mean about it. I adored you, and you were so cruel. And so finally I started lashing back.”

“I didn’t-“ But the memories kept coming back. Hermione laughing at Imogene. Hermione making Imogene go away. Hermione telling Imogene that she was lucky to be pretty, because she’d never be smart. 

“Oh my God,” Hermione whispered. “I did it all.”

“I remember,” Imogene said dryly. “I was there.”

“I’m so- so sorry, Imogene.” 

Imogene shrugged. “What’s done is done.”

“How can I make this right?” Hermione asked, her voice pleading.

Imogene looked at her, and suddenly it was like Hermione was looking at Miranda. The same calm gaze. The same wise eyes. And she spoke something that Hermione had often thought about life after the war. 

“I don’t know, Mione,” Imogene said. “Maybe there are some things that can’t be made right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! Two more chapters and this is finished. If you'd like to read more of my work, I've just started uploading my current WIP, a Jane Eyre dramione AU called "Bound, Heart and Soul".


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

 

Draco was awake and grooming himself in the bathroom when Hermione made her way back to their room.

“I talked to Imogene,” Hermione leaned against the open door as she watched Draco shave using magic. His razor stilled in midair.

“Oh?” 

“I told her everything.”

“Everything meaning what, exactly?”

In response for the second time today, Hermione rolled up her sleeve and displayed her scar.

“Everything,” she whispered softly.

“How did she take it?”

“Remarkably well,” Hermione said. “I’ve underestimated her for a long time, I think. She’s not who I thought she was. She’s smarter, and tougher. And perhaps kinder.”

Draco’s razor finished shaving with a flourish and snapped the blade back into the handle. Draco caught it in midair with a seeker’s instinct. 

“Granger admitting she’s wrong,” Draco teased and turned towards her. He wore only a towel, and he was a lovely, glistening, clean-smelling apparition, and Hermione suddenly felt both unworthy of having someone so beautiful and grateful for her selfishness at claiming him. He seemed to be able to sense her fragility in that moment, and gently touched her chin then traced her cheekbones with his long fingers. 

“As someone who’s had to learn every lesson by doing everything wrong, this is the first step.” Draco cupped Hermione’s cheek with his hand and she found herself looking deep into his eyes. His were shining and urgent and clear. She wondered what he saw in hers. Could he tell the pain and anguish and regret that she was still feeling?

“Regret is a good thing, Hermione. It means you know what you did wrong, and helps to fix it.”

“How do you know me so well?” Hermione tried to tease, but her voice quivered.

“That’s what happens when you’re in love, Granger.”

“Move in with me.” Hermione said the words all too quickly, and Draco paused after she spoke. 

“What?” He cocked his head and furrows appeared between his eyes. Hermione took a deep breath.

“I would like you to move in with me. If you want to.”

“Why?” Draco spoke so quietly Hermione almost missed it. She began to twist her fingers around themselves. It was so hard to speak now and still meet his eyes, but she owed him this much. He had given her so much. She could give it back to him. She took a deep breath, and ignored the roiling in her stomach.

“I just realized that I’ve been protecting myself from harm by trying to feel less. I’ve not been as kind or generous or open as I should be. And that ends today. So, if you would like it-“ Merlin, this was difficult- “please move in with me.”

“Hermione,” Draco murmured and pulled her in close for a kiss. It was tender and warm and thorough, and Hermione felt herself melting a bit. 

“Is that a yes?” she asked after they broke away. Draco ran his fingers through her curls.

“You know, for such a smart witch, you can be awfully dense sometimes.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Hermione pouted, but she felt light and free for this one glorious moment. 

“Ah, but I’ve never been fair, love. Slytherin.” His long fingers began to gently work through knots in her hair. She winced. 

“And you desperately need a shower. Especially since we’re going to that goodbye luncheon.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“I’ve also not been accused of being nice.”

“Slytherin,” Hermione accused. Draco smirked at her.

“Indeed.”

Hermione was not sure how she would have gotten through the luncheon without Draco. Or without the shower she had taken before, where she had focused only on the feeling of hot water on her body and the lavender scent of her shampoo.Or how she would have made it through without her mother, who had slipped her arm through Hermione’s while they walked to the private dining room and told her she heard from Draco about their decision and she was very happy for her. She had all these things to fortify her, and she still felt jittery and anxious. 

She did not know how Imogene was getting through lunch, but Imogene was happy and smiling and complimentary towards their grandparents. She did not know how Draco did it, but he was at his most charming and gregarious, buying champaign for the entire party and proposing a toast to the Granger family. The only person who seemed as unsettled as she did was Cormac, who was slouching and kept glancing over at Hermione. He was the only person who looked as awful as Hermione felt. 

After lunch was mostly eaten Hermione’s grandfather stood, swaying slightly.

“I just wish to thank you all for coming here this weekend,” he said, and her grandmother grabbed his hand. “Jean and I were just talking about how lucky we are. Few of our friends have this bounty of a family who will still come together. We are grateful to all of you. Thank you for coming.” 

He raised his glass of champaign that Draco had already had poured for everyone.

“To those ties that bind, and to answering the call.” 

Everyone echoed it back to him, and Hermione took a deep drink of the champagne, letting the cold tight bubbles evaporate in her mouth. 

After lunch everyone left. First Hélène and Richard left, hugging Hermione and Draco tightly and making them promise to come to dinner next week. Then Phillip and Sonya with their assorted children- Alex buried again in his video game, Poppy brightly promising to come visit Hermione at Oxford, and Rhys teasing Poppy about being a swot while ignoring Alexia’s increased annoyance at her boyfriend. Then Jean and Ernest, followed shortly by Miranda and Nicholas, who had already promised to meet Nicholas’ family for dinner. Aunt Charlotte made a show of collecting all her things and fussing over Imogene, whose bright replies kept slowly creeping into hysterics. But finally Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Graham left as well, after Aunt Charlotte gave Hermione a halfway kind hug and told her that she hoped a smart girl like Hermione would reconsider.

“Have a safe journey, Aunt Charlotte,” Hermione instead politely demurred. And then there were only the four of them left.

“When are you going?” 

“We’ll be staying here for the next few days.”

“Of course.” Now that Imogene no longer had to pretend her voice was cool and polite. 

“We should talk,” Hermione said, her voice low and urgent.

“Why don’t we all come to our room?” Draco suggested. “Maybe in an hour?”

“I don’t know how an hour would make things better,” Imogene said. “We may as well get it over with now.”

Hermione nodded- was there any response she could rightly give to that sentiment?- and led Imogene and Cormac down the hall to their suite. They entered the sitting room, then went upstairs to the private sitting room and settled in. Cormac looked around and gave a low whistle.

“Always knew you were rich, Malfoy, but never this rich.”

“I’m actually less rich than I used to be,” Draco said as he picked up the phone to call for tea. “Disownment cut my vault by quite a bit.” He quickly put in an order for a tray and then hung up the phone.

“How did you become so wealthy?” Imogene asked. She seemed to have steadied herself, and was asking those questions that normally would be considered rude. But with everything that Imogene had learned recently, questions about Draco’s bank account were almost innocent.

Draco paused, then seemed to decide to answer the question honestly. 

“Old money,” he said crisply. 

“Wizards have old money?” 

Draco studied Imogene, evidently deciding that the question was genuine, because he elaborated. 

“We do. We have different currency, but there are some very wealthy families in the wizarding world. And mine is one. My ancestor was a courtier for Queen Elizabeth. They say that she denied his marriage proposal, and that’s why she never married. He cursed her.”

“Sounds like a Malfoy.” Cormac seemed unable to resist the taunt. Draco fixed him with a careful stare.

“My father used to tell me I was born thrice blessed. As a wizard, as a pureblood, and as a Malfoy.” His voice held a delicate balance of explanation and threat, and Cormac did not pursue the matter anymore.

“But you’re disowned now.”

“Yes,” Draco said, looking at Imogene. “I have no relationship with my parents. They control all the family money, besides my trust, which is more than enough to live on but not what I am used to. And so now I must suffer by living life as someone who is rich, instead of obscenely wealthy.”

“But you own your company.”

“So if I am lucky and smart, I can regain some obscenity in time.” Draco’s mouth twisted in sarcasm. A heavy silence descended on the room, broken by the knock at the door.

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured as a smartly dressed woman swept in and deposited a full tea tray at the table.

“Will that be all, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes, thank you,” Draco said distractedly, and handed the woman a crisp twenty-pound note. She gave a deep nod and swept out. Hermione began to pour the tea when there was a sharp tap on the window. 

An owl was clasping a scroll at the window. Draco strode over and to the window and unfurled the parchment.

“Daph says she can be over in a bit to discuss employment. Will that work for everyone?”

Draco glanced around. Cormac was mute. Imogene silently nodded. 

“Alright,” Draco said. He handed the owl a bit of scone and stroked its feathers briefly. “I’ll go tell her.”

He walked into the bedroom and shut the door, then there was the muffled sound of a crack. The owl flew away.

“You receive letters by owls,” Imogene said evenly. Hermione fastened her glance on her.

“Usually,” Hermione said. “But he’s probably apparated to respond to Daphne. An owl would never reach her in time. She lives quite a distance from here. Draco must have contacted Theo late last night for an owl to already reach us.”

And indeed, a second muffled crack was heard, and Draco strode out of the room. 

“She’ll be here shortly,” he said. “She was still in her dressing gown, eating breakfast at this hour.” Draco scowled at the clock, which showed the time as two in the afternoon. “And she wasn’t alone.”

“Cho was there?”

“Cho, Theo, and Theo’s mistress- what’s her name? Your old housemate. Spinnet.”

“Alicia,” Hermione volunteered. 

Cormac groaned. “Not more Slytherin’s dating Gryffindors.”

Imogene ignored her boyfriend. “Who is Theo? I’ve heard you mention him before.”

“Theo Nott,” Draco said, aristocratically sinking into the couch, “is my business partner, an old friend, and the husband of your future employer, Daphne Greengrass-Nott.”

Imogene looked surprised at the turn of this conversation. After a pause, in which she seemed to be uncertain which way to direct her questions, she went in the easiest direction.

“She’s a witch?”

“She is,” Draco confirmed, “and she is one of the few people to be running a business in both the muggle and wizard worlds. She needs a liaison who is both comfortable in the muggle world and has some knowledge of fashion. This job will allow you the permits you need.”

“You’ll also be perfect for it,” Hermione interjected. “Daphne’s been looking for someone for weeks, but hasn’t been able to find the right candidate. You have experience in the business, an eye for fashion, and a logical mind in addition to contacts in the muggle world.”

Imogene raised her eyebrows at the compliment but nodded. “And her husband keeps a mistress? That doesn’t bother her?”  


“They have an arranged marriage,” Draco said, sprawling his fingers and staring at his hands. “They’re actually quite good friends, but never wanted to be in a relationship. The marriage gave them the capital they both needed to start their work and a veneer of respectability. They’re hoping to divorce this year.”

“Isn’t he a bit weedy looking? I can see why a bird like Greengrass wouldn’t go for him,” Cormac interjected. Hermione snorted. Draco looked at Hermione and smiled.

“You think Nott’s fit,” he said with teasing accusation.

Hermione shook her head. “I’m not getting into this.”

“I’m telling Theo,” Draco taunted. He turned his eyes on Cormac and gave the man a withering stare.

“The reason Daphne doesn’t go for him is because Daphne is sapphic.”

Hermione sighed. “The proper term is a lesbian, Draco.”

Cormac’s brow furrowed. “A bird that hot? What a waste.”

Imogene elbowed Cormac in the ribs hard. “Cormac!” She hissed. Cormac fell silent.

There was another muffled crack in the bedroom as Imogene turned to Draco and Hermione.

“Does the magical world not approve of gay relationships?”

“We’re far behind muggles on that,” Daphne said as she opened the door and entered the sitting room. “Wizards have barely gotten to the point where women are considered more than walking wombs.”

She crossed over to Imogene and shook her hand. “We met last night. Daphne Greengrass.”

“I do remember,” Imogene said. Daphne laughed.

“Good.” Daphne sat across from Imogene and studied her. “Your world has turned upside down recently, hasn’t it?”

“Not my entire world.” Imogene’s hands were shaking but her hands were firm. Daphne nodded.

“I like you,” she pronounced. “You’re brave. Not that I’m surprised, seeing who you’re related to. And your image will fit in well with my company. That, considering your relations, is surprising.” Daphne shot a quick smirk at Hermione. “No offense, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, her voice dry. Imogene gave a quick laugh. 

“I’m grateful,” Imogene said, “but I’ve no idea what you expect from me.”

Daphne’s tone turned businesslike. 

“I essentially run two companies- Nymph in the muggle world, and Meliae in the magical world. Two different staffs, target demographics, designs, everything. I need a liaison at Nymph who knows what’s going on at Meliae to pay attention to all the small details. My staff functions well there, but I need someone to be there when I can’t.”

“Why not use another witch?”

Daphne snorted. “Because they’re helpless. They have no idea what the muggle world is like. You’ll see when you get a crack at the magical world- they’re all insane. And I need someone who knows fashion. There’s barely anything for haute couture in the magical world. It’s all still tailored.”

“You barely know me.”

“But I know Hermione, and she recommends you. That’s good enough.”

“I have a job!” Imogene’s protests were becoming fainter.

“And I only need someone part time right now.” Daphne’s tone softened as she looked at Imogene. “You’re free to refuse, but if you want to keep your memories we’ll need to find you something else, and fast.”

“We?” Cormac asked protectively.

Daphne shrugged. “I like her.”

“She has a boyfriend.” Cormac pointed out. Imogene glared at him. 

Daphne laughed. “I do not need any more relationship drama, thank you.”

“That’s rather a rude thing to say to a lady, MacLaggen,” Draco said, barely looking up from studying his nails. 

Cormac gave a bark of a laugh.

“That’s rich. Being lectured on manners from you.”

“Cormac,” Imogene hissed. Cormac ignored her.

“Did you forget what a shit you were?” Cormac said. “Do you remember what you did? And you make it out like I’m the villain. Like this is my fault.” He gave a hard, humorless laugh.

“Because it is,” Imogene burst out. “You’re the reason I have to take a job to keep my memories. And I will thank you not to insult the people who are trying to help me.”

“If you had known what they’d done-“

“Hermione’s already told me plenty, thank you.” Imogene’s voice was crisp and steady. She fastened her gaze onto Daphne.

“Tell me more about this role.”

Daphne began elaborating what the job would entail- a lot of internal communications and some talk with her counterpart in Daphne’s other business. She laid out hours and expectations, and as Imogene nodded along and asked more intelligent questions Daphne delved into deeper detail. Hermione found herself wondering why she had never noticed how smart Imogene was. She read people easily, something Hermione had always struggled with, and had a knack for distilling the issues into the most elemental terms. By the time that Daphne had laid out the salary (good for hourly work, with a promise that if it was mutually beneficial it could become a full-time job) and location (in the heart of London, not far from where Imogene already lived) Imogene was leaning forward and nodding enthusiastically. Cormac seemed to have shrunk. 

“Do we have an accord?” Hermione asked in a lull in conversation. The light was turning golden outside, and she was getting quite hungry. 

Imogene glanced at Daphne.

“I’ve solved my problem,” Daphne said with a wide smile. 

Imogene straightened her spine. “Yes.” There was a faint blush on her cheeks, but whether from excitement or nervousness Hermione could not tell.

“We don’t have to do this,” Cormac suddenly burst in. “Wives are allowed to know. We could get married.”

“I knew you were foolish, MacLaggen,” Draco drawled, “but I didn’t realize you were desperate.”

“That’s rich, coming from death eater scum,” Cormac spat, and reached for his wand.

Draco reached for his too but Hermione was faster than either of them. 

“Impedamente!” she cried, and the two were blasted back comically in midair. Cormac glared at Hermione with a death stare. 

“If you two want to fight,” Hermione said, her voice weary, “you will not do it here. Do you understand?” 

There were several long seconds where neither could respond, but Hermione took it as good enough. She dropped the spell, and both of them unfroze.

“Granger, you didn’t have to freeze me as well,” Draco said, readjusting his hair.

“I didn’t?” Her voice was dry. He shot her a wicked smile.

“Maybe you did.”

Cormac turned to Imogene. “We could get married. You don’t have to do this.”

Imogene regarded Cormac for one long moment, then gently rested her hand on his cheek. 

“Cormac,” her voice was soft and steady, “next time you ask a woman to marry you, don’t let it be as a last resort.” 

Imogene turned back to Daphne, her face carefully blank. “I think they said something last night about paperwork?”

“Everything on my end is all filled out.” Daphne reached into her bag and pulled out a few scrolls and a quill. One of the scrolls started to float, and opened in midair to a line. “You just need to sign and date a few things.”

“You were ready,” Hermione said. Daphne shrugged.

“I had a good feeling,” she said, and gently handed Imogene a quill, then began coaching Imogene on how to write with a quill.

“You muggles have the right idea,” Daphne said, shaking her head. “Ballpoint pens are a miracle.”

“They’re not very dramatic,” Imogene said as she continued signing. “These are much prettier.”

With Imogene’s last signature the scroll closed with a snap, and Daphne corralled everything back into her bag.

“We’ll be filing this tonight. Do you have everything we need?” She addressed this to Hermione, who nodded.

“Imogene will be an officially designated liaison by tomorrow morning.” Imogene exhaled hard, then gave a tentative smile.

“Imogene,” Hermione said carefully, “I hope that if you have any questions, you know you can ask me.” 

“Thank you,” Imogene said softly. “I will.” 

“She can ask her boyfriend, Granger,” Cormac cut in.

“Cor-“ Imogene began. 

Cormac blanched. “Imogene.” His voice sounded too hearty, like he was preemptively laughing at a joke. 

“I need some time. Alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Cormac said, and he flashed Imogene a charming smile. “I never meant to put you through this. I’ve been trying to make it right. And we can. Together.”

“You’ve been trying to make it easy for you,” Imogene said. Her voice was getting stronger. “You’ve barely been thinking about me for this whole time.”

“Babe,” Cormac said, slowly moving towards Imogene like she was a spooked horse, “a lot has happened in the past twenty-four hours. Why don’t we go home and talk about it?” The unspoken word- _alone_ \- seemed to hang in the air. 

“You go home,” Imogene said. “And I will let you know when I’m ready to talk.”

Cormac looked as if he wanted to argue but Imogene was resolute. With one last glare around the room Cormac turned, and disappeared with a furious crack.

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Hermione said, looking around the villa. “We have it for a few more days. If you need to.”

Imogene shook her head. “I need to go back to my flat. I need to think. I’ve already missed my train- what time is it?” She began to run her hands through her hair, messing up her perfect locks. 

“I can take you,” Hermione said. She wasn’t sure really why she was volunteering, only that it was the right thing to do. “I could apparate you to your apartment. It won’t be fun, but it will be quick.”

“You don’t need to,” Imogene protested, but her protests were weak. 

Hermione shook her head. “It’s fine. I have to go into London anyway to check on some paperwork.”

Imogene stared at Hermione for one long moment, then cocked her head. “Yes,” she said. “I think I’d like that.”

Imogene’s flat was smaller and cleaner than Hermione had expected. She had a roommate, but that roommate was often gone- a fellow model, Imogene explained, who was on a shoot in Spain this weekend. Hermione was able to apparate them directly into the kitchen. 

“Here,” Hermione said when Imogene began to fret about Cormac being able to do the same. She cast an anti-apparation spell. She added on a few more wards just to be safe. “I can’t promise he won’t come by, but he won’t be able to apparate right into your apartment. He can’t surprise you here. And if you need to, I can make it so he won’t be able to find it.”

“Thank you,” Imogene said. She looked ten years older than she had last night, and she seemed on the verge of tears. “You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

Hermione reached out to reassuringly rub Imogene’s shoulder. “Of course I did.”

Imogene surprised Hermione by pulling her tightly into a hug. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!


	14. Epilogue

Epilogue

 

 

When Hermione told Draco that she wanted to throw a housewarming party he had looked at her as if she was mental. 

“Are the fires not keeping us warm enough?” he said. He was standing in their kitchen doctoring his coffee with so much cream and sugar that the coffee was almost white. Their kitchen. It had been their kitchen now for a few months, along with their bedroom and their closet, with the basement becoming Draco’s potion lab and the spare bedroom becoming Hermione’s office. 

Hermione smothered a giggle. She was finishing her coffee and about to head into work.

“Muggle saying,” she said. “It’s an event you throw when you’ve moved into a new place. It’s really just an excuse to get together with friends and show everyone where you live.”

“Never been to one,” Draco remarked casually.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s because income bracket you come from doesn’t buy houses, they inherit them.”

“One day,” Draco sighed. “One day we’ll inherit the manner and you can use your most violent spells to blow that drawing room apart.”

“I’d rather never see it again,” Hermione said as she levitated her coffee cup into the sink.

“Done,” Draco said, and reached out to kiss her soundly. “And a housewarming party sounds brilliant. Let’s invite everyone.”

The agreed upon evening was the first Saturday in October, and everyone did come. Pansy and Ron arrived first. Pansy directed Hermione on arranging the catered food onto platters, clucking at the quality of it all. In between garnishing and arranging Pansy casually mentioned that she had asked Ron to marry her, and Ron had said yes. Upon hearing that Draco opened the first bottle of champaign of the night, and shared it with the next guest, Neville who had brought his new girlfriend, the lovely and kind Hannah Abbot. Blaise Zabini made a dramatic entrance, driving a more expensive version of the car that Draco had bought and teasing Draco about his inability to drive. Luna Lovegood, who had come alone, and who Blaise could not seem to stop stealing glances from across the room. Dean and Seamus, holding hands and talking with Neville excitedly. Hermione was drawn in as she walked around the room with a glass of wine. 

“The muggle government is recognizing gay relationships,” Dean was explaining to Neville, as Seamus was excitedly talking over his partner.

“Just think about what it means!”

“Maybe by the time we’re 50 we’ll be recognized here too,” Dean said with affection and sharpness. Hermione felt a twinge in her heart.

“Sooner, if I have anything to say about it,” she said.

Dean cocked his head. “We fought a war over this, and things didn’t change enough.”

Hermione looked around her house. It was not a perfect society. There were their good friends, her ministry coworkers, a few of Draco’s investors, members of Dumbledore’s Army, a few other local Wixen from Oxford. here they all were, purebloods and muggle-borns and half-bloods and muggles- a flash of gold curls let her know that Imogene had arrived- in a way that was unthinkable ten years ago. 

“There’s a world out there where we could be free to be with each other without any stigma,” Seamus’ voice was excited. 

“And that will be our world,” Hermione said, her voice firm. “I promise it.”

Dean caught Hermione’s eye, and gave her half a smile. “If anyone can it will be you.”

Hermione shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “It will be all of us.”

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned. Imogene was there, a wide smile on her face. “Hello there.”

“Why hello,” Hermione said, and gave Imogene a hug. Over the past few months the two had been meeting for lunch once a week, and the tentative, careful meetings had turned into a sort of friendship. Perhaps twenty-three was late to become friends with her own cousin, but Hermione found she was grateful for whatever twist of fate had created this. 

“You look lovely,” Imogene said, taking in Hermione’s demure brown dress, her antique diamond earrings, and tamed curls. She gave Hermione a wry smile. “Did you choose this?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Very funny,” she said, and took a sip of her wine. She looked away, scanning the crowd once again.

“It is,” Imogene agreed. “Draco does have good taste.”

How strange that a few months ago she had imagined this very conversation complete with digs at her ability and Draco’s personality. Dean was laughing, and Imogene was introducing herself to him. And Imogene was right, sort of. Draco had helped choose her dress tonight from three options she had pulled from her closet at random. The brown one was the one he had liked best. Or as he had put it himself, “Brown’s the only option, Granger. The blue’s too casual, and just burn the lavender.” 

Of course the lavender was the only one she had bought herself.

Harry and Ginny had arrived. Ginny was chatting with her ex-boyfriend about a court ruling in America and what it might mean for Britain. Imogene turned and greeted Ginny brightly, kissing the redhead on the cheek.

“And when are you due?” Imogene asked, gesturing to Ginny’s swelling stomach.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ginny said in her best imitation of being offended. Hermione laughed.

“She’s still refusing to talk about it publicly,” Harry said. “If they don’t move onto the championship I’m sure she’ll announce it.”

“And if they don’t?” Hermione asked. Harry shrugged. 

“Maybe after his birth.” 

“A boy?” Hermione whispered softly. Harry pressed his index finger against his lip. 

“Oops.”

“Oops indeed, Potter,” Ginny said. Harry looked unrepentant. 

“If I couldn’t tell the godmother, who can I tell?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Come, husband. I need a drink to hold for the rest of the evening.” She dragged him off, past the floating champaign trays and towards the well-stocked bar Draco had set up. 

Dean and Imogene were now deep in conversation.

“It’s rare to find a witch informed about the muggle world,” Dean mentioned offhand. Imogene stilled for just a moment, then flashed a brilliant smile.

“I’m actually a muggle.”

“My cousin,” Hermione jumped in. “And Daphne’s assistant.”

Dean looked deeply excited. “I’m muggle-born as well. This-“ he swept his hand around Hermione’s living room, with its candles floating in midair and trays of champaign hovering gently around the perimeter- “it’s lovely, but I miss the muggle world sometimes.”

“It seems foolish that people have to choose,” Imogene said softly.

Hermione was pulled away from this conversation by the arrival of Daphne and Cho, who quickly joined the conversation. Cho and Neville were chatting about herbology- Neville was leaving the Auror department at the end of the year for an opportunity to study under Professor Verde at Castelobruxo in Brazil. Daphne greeted Hermione with a kiss.

“You look lovely,” Daphne said and studied her. “I want to borrow this dress when you’re finished with it.”

“I doubt it would fit you,” Hermione laughed. Daphne flashed her a brilliant smile.

“Do you know who designed it?”

“No idea,” Hermione said promptly.

“Miuccia Prada,” a smooth voice from behind her said. Draco’s hand rested on her waist. “One of those Italian designers Blaise likes so much.”

Daphne nodded. “It’s feminine, but structured and conservative enough for the wizarding world.” She was gazing at Hermione with a hard, appraising glance, one entirely focused on the dress itself. “Yes. The seduction of suggestion.”

“I think she’s found her inspiration for Melaie’s new collection,” another new male voice said. Daphne snapped out of her intense, almost uncomfortable study of Hermione and turned with pleasure.

“Theo!” she said, her voice genuinely warm. “It’s so good to see you here.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Theo said, and gave Daphne a quick hug. He and Draco shook hands in the manner of men who had been raised to think of anything more as unmanly, and he kissed Hermione on the cheek. Theo still was lean, but where he once was weedy he now looked loose limbed and elegant. 

“No Spinnet tonight?” Draco asked. Theo shook his head.

“No more Spinnet,” he said, his voice droll.

“I’m sorry Theo,” Hermione offered. Theo and Daphne’s marriage had always struck her as unacceptably sad, and the fact that they had both found someone they cared about in the marriage was a grace for them.

“It’s for the best,” Theo insisted. “After all, I hear when you’re single girlfriends are preferable to women who want money for their favors.”

Hermione was so overwhelmed with disappointment in Alicia for her treatment of Theo that she almost missed the implication of the statement. Thankfully, Draco did not.

“Single?”

Daphne threw her arm around Theo’s waist. “We filed for divorce today.”

“Excuse me!” Draco’s voice rang out in the living room, and everyone fell silent. 

“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming out to celebrate with us tonight,” he said, and there was a murmur behind him of people assenting. “We’re celebrating our good fortune, but we’d also like to celebrate that of our friends. So I’d like to propose a few toasts.”

There was a flurry of movement as people gathered their own glasses.

“First, to Pansy Parkinson and Ron Weasley. Ron, congratulations. Pansy has popped the question, and like any wise man, Ron accepted. Many happy returns.” 

There was a movement of glasses around the room, and Pansy looked as if she was glowing.

“And secondly, to Theo and Daphne no-longer-Nott on the very auspicious occasion of their divorce. It’s been a long time coming, and we’re very thrilled for them. To their mutually happy future.”

There was another, more hesitant motion of glasses, but Daphne had her arm wrapped around Cho and Theo was laughing as he drank, and after a bit everyone else’s motions were a bit more confident.

“That’s all,” Hermione said, “except to say thank you. Please, eat and drink and be merry with us.”

Draco reached over and gave Hermione a long, lingering kiss. It was one brilliant moment of happiness, being surrounded by so many friends. They had fought so long to make this life. It seemed only right to celebrate it.

When they had broken away Daphne was introducing Imogene to Theo. Theo was staring at Imogene with intense interest, and Imogene was biting her lip and playing with her hair in the perfect picture of innocent flirtation. 

“Is your cousin interested in Theo?” Draco murmured in surprise. 

Hermione shrugged. “She and Cormac broke up weeks ago.”

The air between the two of them seemed charged. Hermione and Draco were not the only ones watching. Ginny, who was chatting with Blaise nearby, was eyeing Theo and Imogene with a detached sort of interest and Daphne looked immensely pleased with herself. 

Draco smirked at Hermione, which seemed to light its way through her body. “Who would have thought?”

Who indeed.

Six years ago, dirty and on the run from Voldemort, she could not have imagined living with a reformed Draco Malfoy, who was now taking driving lessons every Saturday morning and had opinions on cars like he did on brooms. She could not have imagined Ginny chatting casually with Blaise, introducing him to Luna who seemed more than interested in whatever Blaise was saying. She could not have thought of her two worlds melding in any way, or that victory would mean anything more than the absence of violence. She never would have imagined a career climbing the political ladder or fights about whose turn it was to choose what takeaway. She certainly could not have conceived of earlier tonight when she thoughtlessly accio-d diamonds to find her earrings and a ring box zoomed towards her from Draco’s bedside table instead. Every day in this life felt like a gift, like something better than a dream.

“Not me,” Hermione said, sinking into her boyfriend’s embrace and stepping back to watch this motley group of friends they had formed around each other. “Did you?”

Draco shook his head, and wrapped his arms around her tighter. He said nothing, and neither did she, as they watched the assembled eat and flirt and dance and perhaps a few begin to fall in love. It was a magic beyond anything that they could conjure, something bright and golden and robust. There were no words to express the love she felt at that moment, for Draco and for their friends. She just nestled closer into him and trusted that he knew. He somehow always did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following along with this, and for all your patience! If you've enjoyed my work, I have a Jane Eyre Dramione WIP called "Bound, Heart and Soul" that's up to date here. I also have a Ransy one-shot related to this story called "Of All the Gin Joints in All The World" that's live on FF.net and will be dropping here sometime in the next week.


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